


A Dangerous Alliance

by ChasingAnna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minor Original Character(s), Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Sane Tom Riddle, Slytherin Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingAnna/pseuds/ChasingAnna
Summary: Riddle's diary intended to kill Harry Potter, but when they come face to face, he gets some other ideas.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 15
Kudos: 113
Collections: The Veil Cycle





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a larger WIP. Neville gets petrified rather than Hermione. Hermione, Ron, and Blaise watch over a non-obliviated Lockhart in the bathroom as Harry goes after Ginny alone.

“Interesting.” Riddle looked at him, still pointing Ginny’s wand, but now smiling. “You know, when I first heard of how you defeated Voldemort, I thought I’d lure you down here and kill you. Now seeing you face to face, I understand.”

Harry looked down at Ginny, keenly aware that with each passing minute, she crept closer and closer to death. But what could he do? _I’ve got to keep him talking, wait for an opening._

“Why would you care? Voldemort was after your time?”

Tom laughed at this, “You don’t get it? It’s an anagram.”

Harry looked down at the map where letters were now rearranging, “Overt Mold?”

“No, No, LORD Voldemort. Is that parchment a magical anagram solver?”

“Something like that. Odd Mover Troll? Mr. Old Dot Lover?”

“What? No. Ok, fine maybe it doesn’t work so well in that direction. It’s ‘I am Lord Voldemort’. It’s an anagram of Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“Oh, I don’t suppose Tom is short for Thomas?”

“Well, yes. Why?”

_Lord volt’s airhead mom, Admiral Voldemort’s Ho,_ “No reason.”

“Accio parchment.” The map flew from Harry’s hand to the boy across the room. As soon as Riddle looked down at it and chuckled, Harry took his chance.

“Expeliramus!”

Tom flicked his wand, deflecting the spell, and casually waved his wand, “Impedimentia.”

Magical ropes wrapped around Harry’s limbs, holding him immobile, helpless before Tom.

“A fine map. This would have served me quite well in my time. Let’s have a chat, shall we?” Tom waved his wand summoning two chairs. Harry felt the ropes draw him down to his seat. Tom plucked Harry’s wand from his hand and took his own seat.

“I do believe our interests may align, Harry Potter. Perhaps we should become allies.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to recruit me.” Anger was rising in Harry once again. “You killed my parents. You tried to kill me. Now you’re trying to kill her!” Harry shot an accusatory glance over to Ginny, still lying motionless on the floor.

“Me? Now, I’ve been trapped in a book for the past 50 years. How could I have harmed your parents? You blame me for another’s crimes.”

“Don’t play games. You ARE Voldemort. You said so yourself!”

“I’m the memory of a 15-year-old boy who’s pen name was later used by someone who hurt you. Why should you hate me?”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because we have a common enemy.”

“What do you mean?”

“The same one who imprisoned me for all these years killed your parents. Your vengeance can be my vengeance. It’s not like you have anything to lose. If I wanted, I could kill you now. Either with the wand or by summoning the Basilisk back.”

He was right of course. Harry was helpless and had nothing to lose in hearing him out.

“Ok, what are you proposing?”

“Simple, I’ll release you. You go back up to the castle and continue your studies. Once a week, you come back down here and write in the diary. I deliver to you the powers and secrets which will aid you in your fight.”

“And her?” Harry nodded towards Ginny.

“Oh? Do you want her? Perhaps more. Perhaps you _want_ her?” A wicked smile spread across his face.

“She’s 11.” Harry’s voice was flat, accusatory, disgusted by Tom’s suggestion.

“And you’re 12. But perhaps in a few years. She fancies you, you know. She’d let you do anything.”

“She’s… she’s Ron’s sister.” The argument felt weak in the face of such a vile offer. How could he suggest such a thing?

“And she’d be alive. Surely he’d forgive such a small transgression if you saved her life. She wouldn’t even have to know.”

“Stop,” Harry said weakly, nauseated by the thought of what Tom was saying.

Tom stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “I’m joking of course. She’s so infatuated with you I couldn’t help but see what kind of man you were. The girl is yours.”

“And the attacks?”

“The Basilisk is yours too. Any further disruption will be on your order.”

“How do I know you won’t try to possess me like you possessed her?”

“I swear I’m neither able to so possess you nor do I desire to.”

“How can I believe you? How could you believe any promise I make?”

“Oh, I’d know if you were lying. I always know. As for me, lies are abhorrent to me. I would not sully myself with anything less than truth.”

“And if I don’t believe you? What if I want some proof, like Verataserum or something?”

“I could offer assurance,” Tom smiled slyly, “There are spells to ensure honesty you know. Would you like us to be so bound?”

Harry couldn’t help but think Tom was three steps ahead of him, like he had wanted Harry to insist on some such requirement. But he could hardly back out now. Harry nodded.

“You’ll need your wand back, and a bit of freedom is called for.” The ropes vanished and Tom held Harry’s wand out to him, handle first. “We will grasp each other by the wrist, the spell is _probitatis._ We must say it together.”

Harry grasped Tom with his left hand, his wand pointed towards where Tom’s hand grasped him.

“On three, 1… 2… 3!”

“ _Probitatis,_ ” they said in unison.

A pale blue light flowed from their wands, wrapping about their arms with cool, clear tendrils.

“Excellent,” Said Tom

“How do I know it worked?”

“We could go on like that forever. Any test or further assurance could be questioned in turn. Let’s begin by discussing the terms of our arrangement. Do you promise to attempt to update me once per week in exchange for your release and safety?”

“I will so long as I don’t have any reason to suspect you of possessing me or otherwise controlling me.”

“Accepted. And to you agree to keep this journal and chamber hidden in exchange for the secrets and powers I wish to impart to you?”

“I won’t tell an- AHHH!” Harry’s left arm exploded in searing pain.

“And now you know the spell works. Who is it you intend to tell?”

“My friends, Ron and Hermione,” Harry panted, still grasping his burning arm.

“Will you promise to at least keep it hidden from the headmaster?”

Harry paused before answering, unsure if he could honestly promise that and unwilling to reignite the pain with a lie.

“I won’t tell him for now, but I can’t promise I won’t change my mind.”

“That will be good enough. Anything else?”

“No, just release Ginny.”

“You’re forgetting something. _Come servant of Slytherin!”_ Tom hissed in parseltongue.

Harry quickly shut his eyes tight as the great snake slithered into the room. He held his wand in front of him, heart racing as he prepared to fight for his life.

“ _The Heir of Slytherin commands you. I bequeath you to Harry Potter. Serve him and his line so long as you live._ Put down your wand and open your eyes. She’s no threat to you.”

Harry cautiously cracked one eye, heart hammering hard in his chest. There before him was the creatures massive head, snout inches from his face, staring at him. He shut up his eyes again. He could feel the creature’s breath on his skin, hot despite the cold sweat pouring from him. Why wasn’t he dead? He had looked at the basilisk and somehow survived.

He opened his eyes again. The beast was staring at him sure enough, but through the transparent lids of its yellow eyes.

“Isn’t she marvelous?” Tom whispered to him, “She will not open her eyes fully in your presence unless commanded, though she can see well enough to kill through the lids. Touch her.”

Harry reached out a tentative hand and touched the creature’s snout. The scales with smooth and warm beneath his fingers, somehow comforting.

“I thought snakes were all cold-blooded.”

“Common snakes, yes. But the Great Serpents, basilisks, dragons, hydras, and so on, are all warm-blooded. Give it a command.”

“What would happen if I commanded it to eat your diary?”

“The Basilisk is one of the few creatures that could destroy me. My life is now in your hands. But you won’t kill me, will you? Not until I’ve shared my secrets, and maybe not even after.” Tom smiled. Harry didn’t like how confident Tom was of his assessment. He looked far too comfortable for someone aware of a threat to their life. He was right though. Harry couldn’t very well kill him with the gift that Tom had just delivered. Besides, there was also something else going on here. Something more complicated than mere vengeance. Acting before he understood the situation seemed… imprudent.

“ _What’s your name?”_ Harry asked.

“ _I have no name. I am Servant. You are Master,_ ” the great beast hissed back.

“ _Sleep until I call for you again.”_ The great serpent slithered back toward the mouth of the statue and disappeared slowly into its hole. 

“Well then, now that the Beast of Slytherin—excuse me, the Beast of _Potter—_ sleeps, I suppose it’s time for me to slumber as well. Until next time.”

Tom faded, not into the milky white transparency of a ghost, but straight into the dark nothingness of the chamber. Harry made his way quickly to the unconscious girl. _She’s still breathing._

Harry made his way back to the entrance. The adrenaline was draining from his blood, leaving him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had made a grave mistake. Could he really join with such evil without being corrupted by it himself? Harry shook his head; he may have made a deal with the devil, but he saved a life. That had to count for something. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

There was the exit ahead. If he could just get Ginny up to the bathrooms, he could bring help to her.

“Harry, please forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

He looked down, at last realizing what he was hearing.

“It’s OK, Ginny. You’re safe. I’m here,” he whispered.

“I… I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t stop him,” she sobbed into his robes.

“I know Ginny. It’s not your fault. It’s over now. Can you climb? We still need to get out of here and I don’t think I can carry you up.”

“I think so. You really don’t hate me?”

“I don’t, I promise. Just climb. I’ll get help once we’re out of here. You go first.”

Harry could see a blush spreading over Ginny’s cheeks in the glow of the wandlight.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m wearing a skirt…”

“We won’t be able to climb with wands out anyway. _Nox._ ” The wand went out, plunging them into darkness. “Go ahead, I’ll follow.” 

They made their way up the hole on hands and knees, crawling upward for what seemed like ages. Harry snaked a hand up, feeling the ground for the hem of her robes, making sure she was still moving.

“Ouch! Damn it!” Ginny exclaimed, “the door is closed.”

“ _Open,”_ Harry hissed. The stone before them slid out of the way and they clambered onto the cold tile of the bathroom.

Hermione and Blaise were still there, wands out, watching over the bound Lockhart. Harry couldn’t help but notice the two were sending venomous glances at one another, seemingly more ready to hex each other than the professor.

“Where is Ron?” Harry asked.

“They went to find a professor,” Hermione shot a look at Lockhart, “a proper one. I was making sure _he_ didn’t betray us.” Hermione glared back at Blaise.

“I was making sure _she_ didn’t get taken in by professor charming over there,” he shot back.

“Shut up. Who was it, Harry? Who’s the heir? Did you stop them? Is the creature dead?”

“It’s over, we’re safe. I’ll explain later,” Harry panted, panic suddenly setting in as the reality of everything caught up to him.

“Harry, are you OK?” asked Blaise as Harry leaned against a sink, hyperventilating.

“Yeah… I think…” Harry began, eyes wide, gulping great gasps of air, “I think I’m gonna… pass out now.”

The world went grey.


	2. Plots and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is faced with choices about how much to trust those around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with the flow of this part, but I feel like it's going to be a sticking point if I don't just get it out there. Appologies and I'll try to do better next chapter.

When Harry awoke, he was surprised to find not Ron, Hermione, or Blaise sitting next to him, but Dumbledore, bent awkwardly into an undersized chair, thumbing through a celebrity gossip magazine. The headmaster peered over a headline (Janet Jackson Pregnant?) and looked kindly at Harry through his halfmoon glasses.

“How are you feeling Harry?”

“Ok, tired. Is Ginny ok?”

“She is fine. I, of course, will need to hear the full story of what occurred, but that can wait until you are fully recovered. In the meantime, there is only one pressing question I must ask, and please be honest.”

Dumbledore stared at him, gaze suddenly cool and piercing. Harry found himself remembering that same look fixing on him under the cloak of invisibility in Hagrid’s hut. _Don’t lie to him. If you lie he will know,_ Harry thought, mind flashing back to Tom and his vow of secrecy.

Dumbledore held up the page he was reading. “Do you think I’d look good in Cargo shorts? I’m led to believe they will be a summer fashion trend.”

“Um… I think you might look a bit silly in them.”

“Excellent. The rest of the questions can wait until this evening. Madam Pomfrey isn’t ready to release you, but I’ve convinced her to allow your friends to take their supper here with you. I’ll be back at 8 for a full recounting of the events.”

“Ginny told us about the diary. It’s gone now, right?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“Don’t tell us anything that will make you hyperventilate though. Madam Pomfrey will have our hides if you pass out with us here,” added Ron.

“I don’t want to get into it, but we’re safe.” In a whisper he added, “I can control the Basilisk. You can’t tell anyone though.”

Harry wasn’t ready to tell them about his deal with Riddle, but he owed them at least one secret.

“No! You have to tell Dumbledore!” Hermione looked pale, terrified after the ordeal they had been through.

“I’m meeting him tonight to tell him what happened. Oh, what happened to Lockhart?”

“He’s not quite saying he slew the basilisk, but he sure is implying it. I’m sure Dumbledore will set him straight when you fill him in,” said Ron.

“Hold on,” Hermione cut in, “maybe we should let him. If Harry couldn’t kill the basilisk outright, but we’re safe from it for the foreseeable future, we might want to just… let him talk.”

Blaise huffed from the corner, his opinion of Hermione seemingly unchanged by what they had been through.

“What?” demanded Hermione.

“Well, I did say that you would want to let him go.”

“You know that has nothing to do…”

“BUT,” Blaise cut her off, “she’s not wrong.” Blaise glanced over at Hermione, “regardless of why SHE wants to let Professor Pretty Boy off the hook, it will keep the questions off us and it gives us some leverage over him. With any luck, he’ll leave on a book tour.”

Hermione bristled, looking very much ready to hex Blaise, but apparently being acknowledged as being right was sufficient to hold her tongue about the insinuations on her motivation.   
  


~~~Chamber of Secrets, one week later~~~

_Tell me about your week_

Harry paused, distrustful of the diary. What small bits could it use to manipulate him? What could he safely relay?

 _For breakfast I had sausage and toast, fried tomato, and a cup of juice._ Harry waited, dreading the anger of Tom at being fed such trivialities. For a few agonizing moments, the page remained blank.

 _Well, go on, how was lunch?_ The words rose from the pages at last.

_Grilled chicken sandwich, pumpkin juice, and pudding._

_And dinner?_

Harry soon found himself recounting, to the best of his abilities, the week's meals as Tom questioned him on each dish, eliciting details of preparation, flavor, aroma, and so on.

“And what do you think you’ll have for breakfast tomorrow?” Tom asked.

Harry looked up to find Tom once again in solid form, sitting across the desk from him and smiling amicably.

“Were you trying to annoy me?” Tom went on, not waiting for an answer, “I was surprised at first, but having not eaten in decades. It was rather pleasant to hear your memories of food. Let’s get down to business, shall we? What else have you discovered down here already?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s more here than just the basilisk. It’s the chamber of secrets, not the chamber of secret. Speaking of secrets, how did your friends take our little secret?”

“I… I haven’t told them yet.”

“Oh? I seem to recall that was a bit of a point of contention last time. Second thoughts?”

“No, it’s just… it’s complicated.”

“Well, it’s up to you. I might not tell Ginny of course. We didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms. That might rule out her brothers as well. Hermione and Blaise would probably keep the secret though. What are you doing about Lockhart?”

“Him? Nothing,” Harry replied. Every time he prepared for a line of questioning, Tom changed the subject, redirecting and putting him on the wrong foot. He felt off kilter, unable to lie from their contract and unable to deflect as the conversation took its sharp turns.

“Oh? You could have lured him down and fed him to the Basilisk, but I’m sure you’d prefer to leave it as a threat. Has Dumbledore told you more about who you are?”

Harry stood silent, not answering as he pondered the question. He refused to allow Tom to dictate the terms of their arrangement.

“Ah, excellent. First lesson. He who acts first can easily keep the initiative. Should you find yourself reacting rather than initiating with Voldemort, you should either change the flow or stop and consider your options more carefully. What have you learned?”

Harry, now quite a bit more cautious, recognized the openness of the question. What had he learned from Dumbledore? What had he learned from this latest exchange? What had he learned over the past week?

“You’ve told me there are other secrets here. You’re trying to get me to split my friends by trusting some but not others.” Anger was rising in him now. “You’re fishing for information Dumbledore might have given me. You’re suggesting I kill or threaten to kill a professor. You told me you wouldn’t try and manipulate me.”

“I have not attempted to possess you nor, if you’ll allow me to explain, have I attempted to make you do anything you don’t wish to. I presented a lesson. Will you get angry in every lesson?”

“No.”

“And if you wanted a different lesson, could you not have come prepared to ask for more specific help?”

“Ok, what other secrets are hidden here?”

“Oh many, a small library with some _very_ interesting spell books, some chambers should you need to rest, a small assortment of magical artifacts, but you’re missing the important question again.”

“Is there anything that can hurt me?”

“Better. Some of the spells can, of course, be dangerous. The artifacts should be safe enough. The only really dangerous thing down here is the basilisk, and she’s of no threat to you anymore.”

“What do you think Dumbledore hasn’t told me?”

“A great many things I expect. He is prone to keeping his own counsel. How much did you tell him?”

“I told him Lucius Malfoy gave Ginny a cursed artifact, she opened the chamber under its influence, and I was able to break that influence and leave the artifact and the Basilisk sealed within the chamber.”

“And?”

“He at least suspects more.”

“Of course.”

Harry hesitated. It was one thing to accept help or advice from Riddle, quite another to ask for it. Still, he had to do something. “I wanted to ask you about Malfoy.”

Tom waited silently for him to continue.

“I.. Well, it all started with his house elf.” Harry recounted the events leading up to Ginny receiving the diary.

“So, are you looking to reward Dobby or are you seeking vengeance on Malfoy?” Tom smiled pleasantly at Harry.

“I want to help Dobby.”

“And maybe stick it to his owner just a little bit?” said Tom, “Not hurt him or anything, just, let him know who beat him.”

“Well, the main thing is Dobby.”

“Of course. The first part may be a bit distressing to Dobby, but I’d suggest you trick Mr. Malfoy into freeing him, then you can enslave him yourself and treat him far better.”

“Why would I enslave him? I’m trying to help him!”

Tom raised his eyebrows, “Do you not understand house elves?”

Harry stared at him angrily, unsure of quite what Tom was getting at.

“House elves do not desire freedom. They flee from it. They seek out wizard families to bind themselves to. The distressing part for him will be being freed. An offer to serve a new, kinder master will be the reward to him.”

“I’m not going to force him back into slavery.”

“Of course not. It would be quite impossible to forcibly enslave such a powerful magical creature. They go to it willingly. They crave subservience. But if you do not wish to take him on, you can leave him free to find his own way. Just know that it won’t be a kindness. Now, do you want to hear my plan or not?”

The two spent the next hour discussing plots involving Lucius Malfoy, the much-abused elf, and Harry’s socks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to rewrite Dobby getting freed. It goes about the same as in the books. I'll pick up next chapter with Harry returning again to talk with Tom. I promise this story was not intended to be a riff on "Luna Lovegood and the Dark Lord's Diary" by The Madness in Me, but it's probably going to end up being pretty diary heavy. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't read "Luna Lovegood and the Dark Lord's Diary," do so. It's a good one.


	3. Taking Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry heads back to Privett Drive for the summer after freeing Dobby. Dudley has a change of heart. Harry and Vernon come to an understanding.

~~~Summer in Little Whinging~~~

* * *

Mealtimes were, as always, one of the few times of the day when Harry spent any time with his aunt and uncle. And so here he was, at the table with three of his least favorite people in the world, picking idly at a thin slab of overcooked beef, undercooked potato, and withered green beans. Every other plate at the table seemed far more appealing, though Harry couldn’t be quite sure if that was the usual course of providing him with the worst portion, or the result of Aunt Petunia willfully making a portion worse out of spite.

Most of his day was spent wandering around Little Whinging, idling away the hours until he could go and visit his friends. Evenings were spent in his room, reading books and writing letters. This year saw a slight departure from his usual summer routine in that he was writing not only to his friends, but also in the dark, evil book that housed a piece of Voldemort’s soul.

The deal he had struck with the young Tom Riddle to save the life of Ginny required him to regularly write in its pages, feeding the memory of the future Dark Lord housed therein. The last week had him dreading spending the night locked in the room with the diary. Nothing ill had happened, and he could not point to any discernable threat. Quite the opposite in fact. Tom seemed remarkably intent on aiding Harry with any problem he let slip during their correspondence.

What troubled him was the sense that the book seemed to be more alive than ever. Of course, during their conversations Tom would eventually be able to manifest and speak to him directly. Well, more accurately they could softly whisper to each other so as to avoid the notice of his Uncle. Yet it was the times between that concerned him. The diary seemed to end up paces he didn’t remember putting it. On his desk when he was sure he had left it in his trunk, or in the trunk when he quite clearly remembered hiding it under his bed.

The parallels to Ginny’s tales of missing time were not lost on him. He didn’t feel like there were stretches of the day he couldn’t recall, though the hours passed by so slowly, with such a bland sameness, he wasn’t sure he’d notice.

Nor was he sure what he could do if Tom was attempting to take control of him. The Basilisk could destroy the book, or so he had been told, but that did him little good with no transport to Hogwarts for weeks to come. He could write to Dumbledore, but that would reveal he had been keeping the dark artifact a secret for these last several weeks.

Harry had at last settled on a plan to hopefully prove to himself if he really needed to take that last desperate step. He had started a second diary, a quite ordinary one in an old composition book. He was slowly filling it with small, cramped writing in ballpoint pen. Each hour, on the hour, his wristwatch would beep and he would take careful note of where he was, what he was doing, and what had transpired since his last entry. Thus far he had missed no entries, nor did he find any entries that seemed unfamiliar.

His watch beeped briefly reminding him to make the next entry, drawing scowls of disapproval from his aunt and uncle, and fearful, furtive looks from his obese cousin, Dudley.

Harry was quite used to Dudley’s nervous glances over at him. Over the years since finding out he was a wizard, all of the Dursleys had shifted from the old vacillation between abuse and neglect, to a new balance of fear and neglect.

“What’s that then?” demanded Vernon.

“A reminder to clear the table at six,” Harry lied. He had anticipated his uncle’s annoyance and prepared what he hoped would be plausible excuses for any overheard alarms.

“Well, if it went off that means you’re running late, doesn’t it? Get these plates cleared and bring in the cake on the counter. Snap to it boy!” Harry bussed the dishes to the kitchen sink, memorizing a few details of the scene to recount in his journal as soon as he got the chance.

Harry was sure this was the most he and his uncle had spoken in days. It was strange. Harry had spent 10 years of his life doing his best to be invisible so as to avoid the notice of his remaining family, and now here he was, feeling as invisible as he ever did under his cloak. He still hated Privet drive and dreamed of the day he could at last leave it forever, but it was far more bearable being isolated for one month a year knowing that he would soon be returning to the crush of Hogwarts.

He selected four plates, some clean forks, and carried the cake disk out to the dining room. Lifting off the cover revealed five slices of chocolate cake. Well, perhaps four and a half would have been more accurate, as the fifth was sliced so thinly Harry was amazed it had not toppled under its own weight.

Obediently, he served each of them, retaining the meager half-slice to serve himself after the others were distracted by their own desserts. Such slights used to bother him, but between the nightly excess the house elves prepared for them at Hogwarts and the flood of sweets he was sure would arrive for his birthday, the petty cruelties of dessert with what passed for his family had lost their sting.

Dudley mumbled something at him through a last mouthful of cake.

“I’m sorry, what?” asked Harry.

Dudley repeated, looking rather pale, “I was wondering if you wanted to split the last slice.”

Harry, Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon all stared at Dudley, trying to process what the boy had just said. Dudley was not prone to sharing anything, much less cake, and most certainly not with Harry. Once, when Harry was seven, Ms. Figgs had made them a carrot cake. Dudley, distrusting the association with vegetables, had taken one bite, and surreptitiously dumped the rest of his in the trash. However, when he saw that Harry might get the last piece on that occasion, he had demanded that the last slice be taken home for his mother only to “accidentally” drop it on the sidewalk a block away.

Uncle Vernon was now looking at Harry again, face beginning to redden as his anger built at the thought of Dudley’s offer and Harry’s continued silence.

“Oh, no, that’s ok. You have it, Dudley,” said Harry, trying to diffuse the situation. No one seemed to hear him.

Aunt Petunia looked on the verge of tears, “Oh Duddy-kins, did he threaten you? Did he… _do_ anything?” Dudley shook his head but glanced nervously over at Harry. The look did not escape his aunt’s notice, and she glared over at Harry.

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry protested.

Uncle Vernon tried to force a smile, “Harry, let’s go have a chat. Petunia, why don’t you take Dudder’s into the kitchen for a cup of tea. He can have the cake there.” He turned back to Harry, “let’s go to the living room.” Harry got up and followed him.

“I swear I didn’t–”

“Sit down,” Uncle Vernon cut him off. Harry sat. “What did you do?”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything. Listen, I–”

“You lot are all the same. You think you’re so clever don’t you? Well, you can’t fool me with your tricks.”

“What tricks? You know I can’t do magic here.”

“Don’t say that word! I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did. A little deviant like you couldn’t bear to follow the rules, could you? Found a loophole I’m sure, and now you’re trying to cover for yourself by bringing it up.”

Harry could feel the familiar anger and frustration building. Here he was, blamed yet again for something he didn’t do. And why should Dudley learning some manners be a crime even if he had done it?

“All you freaks trying to pull one over on respectable folk. It won’t work! Not with me! I’m on to you boy.” Vernon ranted on.

Harry knew his uncle wouldn’t hear a word he said when he was on a roll like this. No matter what the facts were, once he had determined something was Harry’s fault, Harry would get punished one way or another. Harry wished that just once he could change the flow of one of these confrontations. Just once make Uncle Vernon pause and think.

Then it hit him. Just do something unexpected enough. Change the flow. Harry felt the anger flow out of him. Harry smiled. Looking Vernon dead in the eye, he drew his wand out of his pocket and laid it gently across his legs.

“First that great oaf and the damnable tail, now this? How much does my son–” Vernon caught sight of the wand in Harry’s lap. “Put that– Put that away!” Fear and anger raged for control, setting his great mustache aquiver.

“No, I don’t think I will,” Harry replied, feeling quite a bit calmer.

“You’re not allowed to! Not here!” Sweat broke out on Vernon’s forehead. He glanced nervously from Harry’s face to the length of holly in his lap.

“Right. So that leaves two possibilities.” Harry held up a finger, “Either I’m innocent of any changes in Dudley’s manners and perhaps the fine teachers at Smelting’s deserve credit for him developing into such a thoughtful young man. Or…” Harry paused for effect, holding up a second finger, “I’m guilty, but no longer bound by restrictions on using magic here. I would assume you would prefer the first possibility?”

Vernon’s face had gone from crimson to pale now, a nervous smile plastered over his sweating face.

“Yes, yes of course. I’ve always said Smelting’s did a fine job of instilling proper etiquette. No doubt he’s growing into a fine young gentleman there.”

“Yes, uncle. May I be excused?” Harry slipped his wand back into his pocket, not wanting to risk the newfound truce.

“Of course,” said Vernon, looking quite ready to part company for the night.

Harry made his way up to his room. Safe behind the closed door, he sat heavily on his bed. He looked down at his hand and raised a third finger. “Or, someone else is meddling,” he whispered to himself.


	4. The Letter and the Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerned about Dudley's change of behavior, Harry considers taking extreme measures.

Harry glanced at his watch. He was nearly thirty minutes late for his hourly entries. He took a seat at his desk, opening his composition book and chronicling the events of the past hour and a half. When the task was done, he pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill, relishing once again being able to use what had quickly become what he considered proper stationery. He loaded the quill with ink and lowered it to the parchment. The tip hovered just off the page, his hand hesitating to begin the letter.

For weeks he had been shut away from the magical world, away from his friends, away from anyone who could possibly understand him. Except for the diary. He had first agreed to their arrangement out of necessity. At the time, agreeing to speak with the shadow of Tom Riddle that lived in the book seemed to be the only way to save both Ginny and himself. The weekly discussions were an unfortunate requirement in order to maintain that truce.

However, since arriving back at Little Whinging, those discussions had become the one time of the week he could actually discuss his life at Hogwarts and the powers he had as a wizard. He had begun, not dreading their chats, but looking forward to them. He had even on a few occasions taken to jotting a question on his summer assignments on the pages, getting Tom’s opinion on the effect of the Goblin Rebellion’s impact on international wizarding relations between the UK and Asia, or the proper methods of growing potion-grade liverwort.

He was careful, of course, to avoid any overly personal revelations. Tom fed on memories and emotions and it seemed unwise to provide him with such rich sustenance as details of Harry’s private life. But Harry’s concern over the book seeming to appear where he was sure he hadn’t left it and now Dudley’s sudden change of behavior couldn’t be ignored. The diary was too great a risk. He should never have removed it from the Chamber of Secrets. He was trapped in this house without access to the Basilisk, the only weapon he knew of with which he could destroy the diary should it come to that.

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_ Harry wrote, before pausing again. He knew what he had to do, but even writing the letter brought up the shade of the crushing loneliness that had been the first eleven years of his life. He knew he was condemning himself to return to that isolation but only until the end of summer break. Why was this so hard, he wondered.

“Because it might not just be the summer,” Harry whispered to himself. “If I get expelled for having this, I might have to live here for years.” It was a situation he put himself in though. Now he had to fix it as best he could. He bent back over the page.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_The object we discussed at the end of last term is still in my possession and I’m concerned it may still be active._ Harry paused here, trying to decide on how to continue on. He wanted to say he didn’t mean it. He wanted to beg not to be expelled.

_I should have told you sooner. I’m very, very sorry._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. Please do not try to destroy it before I can explain._

He looked down at the short note, then over to Hedwig, napping peacefully in her cage. This would change everything of course. His whole magical career could be over as soon as he sent the letter. Even now he felt a certain pull to write in the diary. He wanted to talk with someone about what he was facing. He wanted Tom to convince him that somehow Dudley had just turned over a new leaf. Harry gazed out his window. Somewhere out there was Dumbledore. Harry could imagine the look of disappointment on his face when he received the confession.

The moon was full and bright, washing over the silent houses below. Windows glowed in the surrounding houses, families happier than his own no doubt getting ready to turn in, unaware of the struggles Harry was facing in number 4.

Anger sprung up unexpectedly in his chest. Why should he have to risk his future over the diary? What right did Dumbledore have to question his decisions? He was the one in the Chamber of Secrets. He was the one who saved Ginny and stopped the attacks. Why should he give up the diary now? Since the agreement they struck, Tom had never tried to tell Harry what to do. It was always Harry's decision. Everyone else was trying to control his life, but Tom simply offered to help. Dumbledore, McGonigal, even Ron and Hermione, they all spent so much time telling him what he should or shouldn’t do as if they knew any better.

Harry looked back at the letter, an urgent desire to tear it up seized him. No. He had to send it. Whatever was happening someone else had to know. If he told his friends, they could be put in danger just as Ginny had. Dumbledore was his best option. He was the best equipped to deal with any danger and the most likely to try and intercede to keep Harry at Hogwarts.

Harry watched a cat stalk past the hedges, weaving in and out of shadows. The calm night seemed to taunt him for his troubled mind and indecision.

But what had really happened? Even if Tom had done it, was it so bad? Dudley was unhurt, just civil. If anything, whoever had brought about this change had done him a favor. Besides, in just a few weeks he’d be back at Hogwarts and he could hide the book back in the chamber and keep it safe without endangering his scholastic career.

Outside, an owl hooted, spooking the cat and sending it scurrying off. Behind some dark shape. Harry peered down into the yard. He didn’t remember there being a bush there. He leaned out the window slightly, trying to make out what it was. Out from underneath the hood, a pale, gaunt face looked back up at him. Harry pulled back in too quickly, smashing the back of his head on the window frame. He toppled to the ground, glasses askew, heart hammering in his chest.

There was someone out there watching his window. Someone in a long, hooded cloak that struck him as decidedly non-Muggle. Could that be why Dudley was acting differently? Had the wizard watching the house put some kind of jinx on Dudley to make him more polite? That could even mean the visitor was friendly.

Harry crept back to the window, chest still pounding, and carefully peeped over the sill. The yard was now abandoned. Whoever the shadowy figure was, they were now gone. The breeze drifting in from the night air made him keenly aware of the cold sweat adrenaline had drawn from him. Harry shivered, closing the window and drawing the blinds.

He returned to the desk where his confession still sat, ink now dry. Harry smiled and dropped the letter in the bin. There was no reason to endanger his place at Hogwarts after all. Dumbledore didn’t need to know about any of this. If some unknown patron was helping him with the Dursley’s, then so what? Everyone else had seemed far to content to leave him in misery. Even the Weasley’s, who would normally have allowed him to visit for the last few weeks of break, were gone on some vacation. For at least this summer, everyone had abandoned him.

He considered writing Ron and Hermione and giving them an update on the odd occurrences, but he was still feeling a bit salty at their absence. Instead, Harry wiped the excess ink off his quill and stoppered the bottle, but left it out, planning on working on an essay later.

Fishing a textbook out of his trunk, Harry settled in to read ahead on History of Magic. The Professor, Mr. Binns, was largely worthless at instruction but was remarkably consistent with assignments. Harry had learned halfway through his first year that the curriculum for the class had remained entirely unchanged for at least the past 7 years, and likely substantially longer than that. Thus, though Harry had yet to start the school year, he had the textbook and a list of all assignments for the year already.

Harry reasoned that he would have a lot easier of a time learning the material on his own outside of class and then not have to worry about catching a quick nap during the lectures. Hermione, when informed of his plan, was incensed by the idea of him deliberately sleeping through class, but had come around in the end. She probably reasoned that if he were really to work ahead and take the class seriously outside of the lecture, it was worth the price of him dozing off during class.

The other bonus was that magical history, when not recited in a droning ghostly monotone, actually proved pretty interesting. Up until 1300 or so, the magical world seemed to be in a rather constant state of war with some magical race or another. It wasn’t until the last few centuries that things had settled down. Aside from Grindlewald and Voldemort of course.

Today’s reading was on Helga Hufflepuff’s role in mediating a resolution to the Dwarf-Goblin Mining Wars of 1020. It was fascinating stuff. The Dwarvish Organization of Miners and Smiths had managed to tunnel all the way under the North Sea to Scotland. When the Goblin’s Union of Underground Workers found out about it, they demanded the British wizards declare war with Norway under the Magical Creature Disarmament and Protection Concord of 980.

Yet despite the rather exciting material, Harry couldn’t focus. Who was the stranger? What was he trying to do? Was he dangerous? Surely, if they were teaching Dudley some manners, they couldn’t be all bad They seemed so creepy though, peering up at a kid’s window in the middle of the night.

If only there were someone he could talk to. Harry marked his place and cast the textbook aside, resigned to the fact he wasn’t going to get much done tonight. His eyes wandered around the room, looking for something to distract himself with. Eventually, his eyes landed on another book, sitting on his bedside table.

Guiltily, he snatched the diary up and made his way back to his desk. He uncorked his ink, dipped his quill, and began to write. A few minutes later, Tom stretched, as if stiff from his time in the book. He took a seat on Harry’s bed, looking across the small room at the young wizard who had summoned him.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. Everything ok?” Tom’s tone spoke more of casual interest than deep concern, but Harry was used to that. Even when Harry had threatened Riddle with the Basilisk at their first meeting, Tom had acknowledged his potential destruction with a spirit of _c'est la vie_ that Harry had found quite disconcerting at the time. Eventually, Harry had decided that like the ghosts of Hogwarts, Tom’s half existence probably drained a fair amount of his concern.

“Someone’s watching me. I spotted them in the garden.”

“Oh? Friend or foe do you think?”

“I’m not sure. They were kind of creepy, but they weren’t doing anything particularly menacing.”

“Describe them.”

“Tall, long loose black robes that mostly hid him. His face was very pale, sunken cheeks, very thin.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much about it. It’s probably nothing dangerous.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, between the magical protections afforded Hogwarts students and extra security from the ministry, you should be pretty safe here.”

“Extra protection? Why would I receive extra protection?”

“Have you forgotten you’re famous? If nothing else there would be a small team on you to dissuade fans overly eager to meet you.”

Harry pondered this for a moment, recalling his first trip to Diagon Alley in which everyone seemed to want to shake his hand and gawk at his forehead. It would explain why no one recognized him when he was outside of designated magical places.

“Besides,” Tom continued, “anyone who would make Dudley try to befriend you must surely be on your side. Or maybe…” Tom paused here, suddenly playing coy with the speculation.

“Maybe what?” Harry asked.

“Well, there are plenty who would object on principle to a wizard being so poorly treated by mere muggles.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“If the stranger isn’t your friend, they may still be quite cross with the Dursleys.”

Harry hadn’t considered this. He was far too used to being in personal danger in the magical world, but the Dursley’s were so devoutly anti-magical it seemed like the wizarding world couldn’t really touch them.

They chatted idly about the coming school year and the classes he would be taking. While Harry couldn’t practice casting the coming spells due to the prohibition on underage magic, Tom could at least talk him through pronunciation and wand movements as Harry waved a pencil around.

Later, with Tom tucked safely back in his diary, Harry sat at his desk, mulling over the events of the day as he prepared to make his last entry for the night in the composition book. The unease he had been feeling was slightly abated by Tom’s suppositions, but Harry was sure he wouldn’t be truly at ease until he was back at Hogwarts, surrounded by people who understood magic.

Two weeks left until the train ferried him back to school. Perhaps he could spend the final week at the Leaky Cauldron and escape the Dursleys for half the remaining time. He could meet the Weasleys there when they returned from holiday and do their back to school shopping together.

Harry looked down at his bin and the letter poking out the top. Amazed that he had ever considered risking his future. He was sure that once he was back with his friends and could talk through what was happening, it would all make more sense. Even talking to Tom put things in perspective. Some guy looking at a famous person’s house, a kid that was once a complete jerk being slightly less terrible, and forgetting where he left a book. Why had he gotten so paranoid about such minor things? He supposed boredom and loneliness had allowed his mind to run away from him a bit.

Harry plucked the letter from the bin, rolled it tightly, and tucked it in his pocket.

“Just in case,” He whispered to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick note, all the works in the collection are part of the same story, just not tied all together yet. While in canon this would be the start of PoA, that whole arc is trashed by the events in my other stories, requiring a whole new arc for this year.


	5. A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dudley's unexpectedly civil behavior continues, Harry does some training, and things change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatting issues are taken care of. I'm using a different program that doesn't have all my usual spelling/grammar checks, so this chapter may be a bit more error prone. Apologies.

Harry woke to sun streaming into his window. The light seemed to wash away the confusion and uncertainty of the previous day. Surely, one offer of cake wasn’t some sea change in the reality of his life. Harry swung his feet out of bed and began pulling on his clothes. One he was decent, he made his way down to the daily abuse that was breakfast. 

In the dining room he found Uncle Vernon reading the newspaper as his coffee cooled on the table. Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. 

Knowing that his best chance at a decent breakfast was to prepare it himself, Harry made his way to the kitchen so that his Aunt could yell at him for not getting up sooner and starting the bacon. As his aunt set about making the toast, Harry pulled the eggs and bacon out of the refrigerator, selected a pan and set up at the stove. 

“What are you doing?” Aunt Petunia asked.

“Just getting ready to make the eggs and bacon.”

“You can wait in the dining room like everyone else. Don’t rush me.” Her tone was sharp and critical as ever, but the fact that she had, for once, counted him among ‘everyone else’ was disconcertingly civil. 

For years, Harry had dreamed of living with a family that would make some attempt at treating him as one of them. He had found a touch of that visiting the Weasley’s, but even there he was a guest, not a resident. Before Hogwarts, he would imagine his teachers adopting him, taking him in and acting as parents. Perhaps they wouldn’t truly love him, but they liked him well enough that he was sure they would give him some kindness. 

It was odd to find that when his actual family made the slightest halting efforts at kindness, offering to split a piece of cake, letting him wait with everyone else for breakfast to be ready, he found the change disconcerting. It was as if the very rules of the universe had changed. The world was upside-down and he no longer knew what to expect from anything. 

Harry returned to the table and sat across from Uncle Vernon, who lifted the newspaper higher and steadfastly refused to acknowledge his presence. Given that Uncle Vernon routinely took breaks from his stream of criticism to pretend Harry didn’t exist, this at least remained in the realm of normalcy. 

Harry sat patiently, idly reading the headlines on the newspaper barrier his uncle had erected. It was profoundly boring. An undersecretary had been sacked after getting caught in a broom closet with an actual secretary, a rash of vehicle break-ins in Guildford, some breakout from Brighton penitentiary, all the mundane, thoroughly normal concerns of the muggle world to which he had been relegated for the summer. 

He imagined the newspaper to be some spell by which Uncle Vernon could shield himself from the displeasure of Harry’s company. What would the incantation be? Odiosis murum perhaps? Diurna despectum? He had managed to get a book about spell theory to read over the summer. Most of it was way above his head, but it was still a kind of interesting way to pass the time. Maybe when he got back to Hogwarts he’d invent a spell to summon a newspaper to hide behind and ignore people. Harry could almost see the smug look that was sure to be on Hermione’s face when he told her he was doing extra studying over the summer. 

Dudley must have come down while Harry was day dreaming, for he emerged from the kitchen with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits and sat down between his father and Harry. As always, his arrival happened to coincide exactly with when breakfast was ready and Petunia began shuttling plates into the dining room. The first plate, piled high with eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and grilled tomato, went to Dudley who was busy spooning sugar into his tea. This was followed by Uncle Vernon’s plate and a top off of his coffee, Aunt Petunia’s, and lastly Harry’s. 

He looked down at his breakfast. One egg – yolk broken, one piece of bacon – undercooked, one sausage – overcooked, two pieces of dry toast – burnt. This last bit was the most offensive, as the only way his toast alone would come out burnt was if Aunt Petunia had deliberately adjusted the toaster only for his serving. At least, he reasoned, there was a degree of normalcy in her petty torments. 

Dudley slid a chocolate chip cookie over to Harry as if in apology for his debased meal. Aunt Petunia stared at her son, shocked and mortified by this fresh gesture of civility. Uncle Vernon, however, simply ruffled his newspaper and mumbled something about “Smelting’s” and “etiquette” before returning to some article or other. 

Harry hurried to finish his meager breakfast before escaping back to his room to make his latest journal entry. When he was done detailing the latest Dursley offenses from breakfast, he tucked the journal in his backpack along with his wand and a handful of cauldron cakes and headed out the door. He was two blocks down when Dudley caught up to him, panting from the exertion of the jog. He dropped to a walk, matching Harry’s pace and trying to catch his breath.

“Can I help you?” Said Harry.

“I was just thinking, you know, maybe we could hang out today.”

Harry shrugged, “I’m heading to the library. You can come if you’d like.” Harry was sure this would dissuade his cousin. Reading was not among the very limited scope of Dudley’s talents, and the librarian kept a close enough watch that there was unlikely to be any opportunity to punch any other children. But Dudley simply nodded and followed along. 

Harry understood that many libraries across England had a hidden section for proper magical books, charmed to prevent muggles from noticing anything unusual. While these didn’t offer nearly the selection that the Hogwarts library did, it at least provided a couple shelves of reasonably safe books for any wizards who happened to be in town. The library of Little Whinging, sadly, contained no such hidden section so far as Harry could tell, but it had tables and it had quiet and Harry had at least a few book sof his own he could peruse. 

So when they came to the humble brick building, Harry sad down and pulled out his copy of A History of Magic and set to work finishing off the last few assignments Professor Bins would give him in the coming year. Dudley disappeared for a few minutes and joined him at the table carrying a stack of comic books, but froze when he caught sight of what Harry was reading.

“Is that a book from,” Dudley dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you-know-where?”

Harry nodded.

“Does it have, you know…” he mimed casting a spell.

“Nah, this one is just a history book. I didn’t want to bring anything, um, practical out where it might get noticed.” 

Oddly, Dudley didn’t seem offended that Harry had the nerve to read a magical text book in public. Instead, he seemed to be staring at Harry with almost reverence. Harry shifted uncomfortably at the attention and resumed his work on the Goblin-Dwarf accord. Mercifully, Dudley turned his attention to the stack of comics and was soon engrossed in various superheroes punching villains, leaving Harry to focus on his essay.

Half an hour later, Harry put the finishing touches on his essay and tucked it away. He’d have to transfigure the muggle lined paper into proper parchment before he turned it in of course, but at least it was written. Harry pulled out his journal and made another entry before noticing Dudley had stopped reading at some point and was looking around, quite obviously bored, but not making any complaint. 

“Hey, Dudley,” said Harry, “what do you want to do next?”

“Well, my boxing coach wants me to work out a few times a week during break. Do you think we could do that?”

Harry shrugged and packed up his things and headed out, following his cousin. Harry couldn’t help but wonder as they walked if they were honestly bonding, or if this was some sort of trick. Dudley was certainly capable of feigning good behavior, especially in the interest of some later abuse, but a full day of such faking seemed to be well beyond his normal attention span. Perhaps the grim figure Harry had seen had put him under the imperious curse and when it was released, Dudley would go back to his old ways again. At least in the meantime, Harry could enjoy one of the most pleasant days he had ever spent in Little Whinging. 

They arrived at the gym and Dudley secured him a guest pass before making his way to the weight room, leaving Harry to look over the mishmash of machines before him. Quidditch was not exactly the most physical sport, but it did require a strong grip, a stable core, and balance. Katie Bell insisted that yoga would help, but Harry didn’t really want to try it where the rest of the guys could catch wind of it. Here though, no one was around who hadn’t already had their opinion of him poisoned by years of schooling with Dudley, so he figured this was as safe a space to try it as anywhere. 

He looked around until found a room with a stack of rolled mats and a few girls stretching. One of them was an older woman, but the other two were quite pretty, so at least he’d have some nice scenery. Harry fetched a dingy grey mat and claimed a bit of space in the corner. Standing there, he realized the flaw in his plan. He had never done yoga. He had no instructions, no teacher, no experience. 

The best he could do is try and recall vague recollections of Katie doing some weird poses and try and mimic them. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her. He could see her in a wide stance, arms out, and tried to put his body in the same position. There was another one, but her arms were up. He tried that. It didn’t feel like it would help him with quidditch though. About the only result he was getting was one of the girls was shooting him little glances and chuckling. 

He did his best to ignore her and moved on to dropping to a pushup position. He alternated dropping and raising his hips for a bit, which at least took a little effort. After a few repetitions of this, the girl who had been laughing at him started to walk over. Harry rethought his decision that the opinions of everyone here wouldn’t matter to him. Even if she was a stranger, a pretty girl laughing at him hurt. 

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” The girl said.

“No.” Harry was blushing now. He wanted to look anywhere but at the girl.

“Would you like some help?”

Part of him wanted to just flee the room and forget this whole misbegotten attempt, but he knew he’d feel even worse about it if he did. 

“Sure.”

“Anna.” She stuck out a hand.

“Harry.” 

She began guiding him through some movements, telling him the names of the poses as they went. She would sometimes reach out a hand and touch him, gently correcting his form. The light warmth of her hand making Harry blush even harder. She was still smiling, and occasionally chuckling, but there was clearly no malice in it. Harry slowly began to enjoy himself. Once he knew what to do, he could feel the stretches and effort needed to hold the poses and the attention of a cute girl didn’t hurt either. 

All this came to an abrupt end when Dudley came in, for the first time this week, he looked properly scandalized. 

“Harry, what are you doing?” said Dudley.

“Anna was just showing me some yoga.”

“Come with me,” Dudley said, pulling at his hand.

“Bye,” Anna called after him as he was dragged out of the room. 

Once they were safely away from the girls, Dudley rounded on him.

“You can’t do that stuff, people will think you’re bent.” 

“Spending time with a pretty girl make you gay? I think you have that backwards.”

“Come on, you need to go punch something.” Dudley dragged him into a room with a heavy bag, grabbed a long strip of cloth and began wrapping Harry’s wrists. 

“Hit that bag as hard as you can.”

Harry punched the bag.

“Again, but put your shoulder into it.”

For the second time that day, Harry found himself getting a surprise one on one training session. The scenery and company weren’t as good, but it was kind of fun to just hit something for a while. After some work on the bag, Dudley got them some gloves and started working on actual boxing technique, dodging, blocking, countering, etc. Harry found Dudley a surprisingly capable teacher and within half an hour, Harry felt he could punch harder, dodge quicker, and move better. It was a much more intense workout than the Yoga had been as well. When they finally left the gym, Harry was pleasantly sore and in need of a shower. 

As they walked home, Harry fished out a couple cauldron cakes and offered one to Dudley, who eyed it skeptically.

“It’s not, you know…”

“Magic? No. Cauldron cakes aren’t enchanted.”

“Ok,” Dudley took the treat, but didn’t eat it right away. He looked as if he were struggling for words. 

“Is everything OK, Dudley?”

“Harry, are we… Are we friends?”

Harry was rather confused by this. Dudley had been about as far from friendly to him as possible for most of his life, only in the past 24 hours had he really seemed to be putting any effort into being nice. 

“I don’t know. If you want to be we could be I guess.”

“I’d like that.” Dudley looked visibly relieved for some reason. 

Harry wondered as this fresh odd turn for a moment. 

Then a mailbox exploded. 

Harry puzzled at the post fluttering down around him for a moment, then saw a flash of red spell light streaking toward him. He dived out of the way as a bush behind him caught fire. Harry dragged Dudley behind some rubbish bins and fished out his wand, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

“Stay down, I’ve got to see where they’re hexing from,” he whispered to Dudley. 

Harry peered over the top of the bins in the direction the attack had come from. A hedge, a house, and beyond that a small wood leading to a nearby stream, but nowhere was there a sign of a wizard. A streak of light flew from the wood. Harry ducked back down, but the bin exploded, launching into the air and showering the two boys with refuse. Dudley stood up, white as a ghost, petrified by the chaos around him. 

Then Harry saw the worst thing. A green bolt of light flying from the wood, but not at him. Dudley stood there, frozen as the spell fire shot towards him. Harry dropped low and pushed Dudley hard, sending him sprawling to the pavement. Harry turned just in time to see the killing curse as it struck him square in the chest. 

Harry crumpled to the ground. He thought dying would hurt, but all he felt was numb. He wished he could have said goodbye to his friends, but it was too late now. At least he had saved Dudley. That was something. He saw the grim, pale face in black robes hovering above him, and at last he understood. Death had come for him.

The gaunt face stared down at him. Its mouth opened, and Harry heard it speak, “No.”

The world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The next few chapters are likely to be slow as well. I've got kind of a lot of stuff happening IRL (nothing bad, just busy) which is putting a damper on my writing time. 
> 
> I'm curious about what guesses you all have for what's happening at the end here. Feel free to speculate.


	6. The Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry awakens, meets someone new, and makes a concerning discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while, but I got the chapter done. I'm trying to settle into a new routine to carve out some time to write, but chapters might be a bit slower for a while. I appreciate your patience.

Harry’s eyes opened to find himself lying in a soft bed in a room lit by soft light streaming through a window and the exposed beams of the ceiling well out of reach above him. The room itself was smaller even than his bedroom on Privet Drive, yet the high ceilings gave it a feeling of openness despite the cramped space. To his right was a small wood stove which sat cold and idle in the August heat. To his left was a plush armchair holding an old grey wizard thumbing through a skateboarding magazine.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

“Ah, you’re awake. How are you feeling, Harry?”

“Ok, I think. Where am I?”

“We brought you to a room in the Leaky Cauldron. I thought it would be expedient for you to do your shopping for the new term from here.”

“What happened?”

Before Dumbledore could answer, the door burst open and a small, rotund man in a green bowler hat entered the room.

“Harry, my dear boy. I was so worried when I heard what happened. Thankfully, I had the aurors on high alert so they could get there before anyone got hurt. Of course, I’d be most appreciative if you didn’t publically go into detail on the unfortunate events of yesterday. I’m sure you can appreciate that it would hamper our ongoing investigation into the matter.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about or what happened yesterday,” Harry began.

“Ah yes, that’s the spirit. And rest assured my boy, the Ministry is willing to make every reasonable compensation for the, er, disruption of your holiday.” With this, the man in the bowler hat pressed a slip of parchment into Harry’s hand and looked at him meaningfully. “It’s a shame we couldn’t identify what spell you got hit with.”

He swept back out the door leaving a very confused Harry alone once more with the headmaster. Harry looked down at the paper in his hand.

_Transfer order #294835._

_100 G to the account of Mr. H. Potter._

_Authorization, C. Fudge, MoM._

“Sir, do you know what just happened?”

“I believe,” said Dumbledore, “the Minister of Magic just bribed you to remain silent.”

“That was the Minister of Magic?” Harry asked in disbelief. “Wait, what does he want me to keep quiet about?”

“Perhaps it would be best if you could tell me what you remember about the events.”

Harry recounted the events of the day, including the odd behavior of his cousin, but leaving out any mention of the diary or seeing Death. Harry figured that, even in the wizarding world, literally seeing a grim reaper wasn’t normal.

Dumbledore listened patiently, staring at him with those calm, yet piercing eyes. When he finished, the elderly wizard paused and thought for a moment, then began to speak.

“I believe you’ve been somewhat out of the loop as they say. About one week ago, there was a breakout from Azkaban. Since then, the ministry has been doing its best to keep the whole matter quiet. Yesterday, the escapee apparently showed up in Little Whinging and attacked you. To have an escape is a scandal in itself. The Minister no doubt feels that if word of an attack on the boy who saved a generation would jeopardize his position. The powerful, sadly, are often the most fearful.”

Harry thought for a moment. He supposed he should be more bothered by someone trying to kill him, but after what he had dealt with for the past few years, he wasn’t terribly surprised. His first year at Hogwarts his Defense Against Dark Arts professor had tried to kill him (before accidentally killing himself). His second year, Riddle’s Diary had tried to kill him (before changing it’s mind). And now, yet a new threat had emerged, failing yet again to harm him. But why?

“Sir, why didn’t the curse hurt me?”

At that moment, Ron and Hermione burst in. Hermione immediately threw herself onto him, holding him tight.

“Oh, Harry, are you ok? We’ve been so worried!”

Perhaps it was the shock of almost dying, but for the first time, Harry was keenly aware that it was a girl’s body pressed against his own. Hermione felt warm in a way he hadn’t ever felt warmth before. It was terrifying, comfortable, embarrassing, and very welcome, all at the same time. A hint of shame bloomed in his chest at having such a reaction to his friend. Mercifully, she broke her hold and stood back up, tears running down her cheeks.

“Mate, you ok?” Ron reiterated. He seemed somehow as embarrassed about Hermione’s embrace as Harry was.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Perhaps I should leave you and your friends alone,” Dumbledore fixed his pale blue eyes on Harry, “unless there’s anything else you need to tell me?”

“Um, I don’t think so, sir.” Just then, a thought struck Harry. “Sir, has anyone been in my trunk?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve got important personal items in there, sir, like my fathers cloak.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Harry was concerned with the safety of the only possession of his father that had been passed to him, even if his immediate concern was for the diary.

“I arrived before the ministry. After ensuring you were safe, I secured your belongings by placing a locking charm keyed to you alone. I can assure you, no one has opened your trunk since the attack. Not even myself. I would not presume to so invade your privacy without explicit permission.” Dumbledore looked at him as if expecting something, though exactly what Harry wasn’t sure.

“Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it,” said Harry. Surprisingly, this seemed enough to satisfy Dumbledore.

“Very well then. I’ll leave you in the care of Molly and Arthur to get your things for the coming year. I do hope we will chat again soon.” And with that, the headmaster swept out of the room.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other for a few moments, unsure of what to do next. It was Ron who found his voice first.

“Tell us everything.”

Harry recounted again the events of the summer, once again leaving out Tom’s diary, but confiding in them his vision of Death, both out his window and after he was struck.

“And all he said was ‘no’?” Ron asked.

“That’s all I heard.”

“Why would Death send you back?”

“Come on Ron, you really believe in some actual being personifying death? Fudge probably had an auror on him for protection. I’m sure it was someone worried about you dying on their watch.”

“An auror wouldn’t have been able to rescue him from the killing curse Hermione. Nothing can. Death sent him back for some reason. It’s probably the same way he survived the first time.”

“How do we even know it was the killing curse? Lots of curses are green. He didn’t say he _heard_ the incantation.”

It was almost relaxing hearing them debate. It gave Harry the chance to hear new theories and think about them without having to respond. He wasn’t sure quite how to tell them that he knew the Killing Curse, but he did. He was sure that green light was the same he had seen as a child; there were things, memories, that pressed themselves into your very being. But he knew that it was natural for anyone else to be skeptical. They didn’t see what he saw. They didn’t feel what he felt.

“What if it wasn’t Death or an auror? What Harry saw the escapee?” said Blaise

Harry hadn’t noticed Blaise enter, but now that he was here, he couldn’t help but notice Hermione glaring at him.

Harry looked over at his housemate. “Who is the escapee anyway?”

Blaise took a seat on the opposite side of the bed as Ron and Hermione. “No one knows. They’re keeping it secret.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you announce an escaped convict without telling people who they’re looking for?”

“No idea, but that’s what they did. Harry, are you ok?”

Harry nodded.

“Are you _really_ ok?”

“I feel fine, Blaise, I really do.”

“Well, if you ever find yourself less than fine, you know we’re here for you. It’s OK to not be fine.”

“I know Blaise. I think I’d just like to get out of this room and start getting our things.”

Ron chimed in, “my mum’s downstairs. She can take us into Diagon Alley.”

The four of them quickly made ready and headed downstairs. After a few minutes for Mr. Weasley to get ready, and a solid half hour for his wife, the six of them made their way into the magical world. Harry looked around at the wonders before him, basking in the absurdity of the magical world and the paradoxical sense of normalcy it now instilled in him. He was more at home here on these streets than he had ever felt on Privet drive.

“Hey, Harry, check it out.” Blaise was pointing at a building marked only by a giant eyeball, slowly swiveling around and observing the street below. “They finally opened up a new ophthamagist! You could get your glasses re-enchanted.” Blaise began dragging Harry towards the building, at which point the giant eyeball fixed on Harry, following his progress with an eerie stare. Hermione and Ron trailed behind. If they were bothered by the huge orb, they didn’t show it.

Harry’s relief at entering the doors and escaping the fixed gaze of the Eye was short lived. Around the shop stood dozens of jars, plaques, pendants, door knockers, and other random items. In each one was fixed an eyeball, and each eyeball was fixed on Harry.

Hermione and Ron began nonchalantly browsing the goods as Blaise advanced on the counter and tapped firmly on a small eyeball shaped bell, around which an eyelid immediately closed, pulling the bell into the desk.

“Service!” called Blaise.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, just finishing up with another customer,” came an old man’s voice from the back.

“What’s an ophthamagist?” Harry ventured.

“A wizard who specializes in sight-based magic. You know, omnioculars, replacement eyes, and of course, enchanted eyeglasses. Diagon Alley hasn’t had one since Lamakin’s Lenses burned down. If you’ve got the money, you could still travel to France to get your things serviced, but most people have just had to make do with fading enchantments or do-it-yourself jobs. Say, what did you get on your glasses?”

Harry was saved from answering by the sudden appearance of a rather irate man, one eye dark and beady, the other a bright purple eyeball set in the heavily scarred left side of his face, limping angrily towards the door muttering to himself.

“Three days! Would have been faster to make the trip to France. And what kind of loaner is this?” The purple eye batted long delicate eyelashes that had somehow sprouted from the ruined eye socket, setting the man on a fresh tirade as he exited the store.

“Ah, welcome, welcome. What can I do for you?” An ancient shopkeeper hobbled out of the back, holding a red and white cane in one hand and a jar containing an electric blue eyeball in the other.

Ron looked at Harry wide eyed and mouthed, _He’s blind?_ which prompted a sharp elbow from Hermione. Sure enough, when Harry turned back to the man, he found himself staring into empty sockets rather than the man’s eyes.

“Oh, terribly sorry. How rude of me.” The shopkeeper tucked away the jar before opening a drawer and fishing out a pair of mismatched glass eyes and pressing them into his face. “I forget that some folk get a bit put off when I don’t keep my eyes in my face.”

“You can see with those?” Harry asked.

“Of course I can. Wouldn’t be much use to make eyes you can’t see with, would it? I can see with every eye in the shop!”

Harry looked around the shop, nearly all eyes were on the four of them, excepting those set in a footstool near Hermione the seemed to be rather pointedly looking away from her. Hermione followed Harry’s gaze and immediately clutched her skirt and stepped away from it, color rising in her cheeks.

“Now, what can I do for you?”

“My friend would like to have his glasses re-enchanted,” said Blaise, snatching the glasses off Harry’s face and handing them over.

“Any particular charms?”

“Whatever was originally on them, plus one more. Happy birthday, Harry.”

“Sir,” said the shop keeper, one eye fixed on the glasses, the other wandering up towards the four students, “I’m afraid these glasses have no enchantments.”

“None? Harry, have you been walking around with _muggle_ glasses these past two years?”

“Well, um,” Harry looked away, “Hermione cast an _impervious_ charm on them once.”

“Ah yes,” the old man said, “I do see a bit of a faint trace of it.”

Blaise stared at Harry, scandalized, then turned back on the shopkeeper. “Give him everything.” He paused for a moment, “Everything legal for quidditch.”

The fuzzy shape of the shopkeeper turned back to Harry and held out a pendant. “It will be about twenty minutes. You can borrow this in the meantime.”

Harry took the necklace by the chain and lifted it over his head. As soon as it rested against his chest, his vision instantly cleared. Harry looked around the shop in amazement. Everything looked slightly different than it had through his glasses. The objects around him seemed larger. His friends seemed taller.

But that wasn’t quite right. He could still see their fuzzy shapes from his usual perspective, but he could also see them clearly from a foot lower. He brought the necklace up to his face to get a better look at it and found himself staring at a detailed glass eye, while also staring at himself through that eye. The incongruous view made his stomach lurch. He closed his eyes, trying not to vomit, and found himself still staring at his own face. His stomach settled as he imagined that he was behind the glass eye, looking out at a copy of himself.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Ron asked.

Harry looked over at him, “Yeah, I can see out of the glass eye and it’s a little disorienting.”

“Oh, I was wondering why your eyes were closed.”

Harry looked back at his own face and realized his eyes were indeed still closed. He opened them tentatively, trying not to think about looking out through the necklace and his head at the same time. The eye swung back around to look at Ron again. Having all three eyes facing the same direction helped he discovered. Harry dropped the chain back onto his chest and looked around.

“Where are Hermioine and Blaise?”

“Over there, trying on glasses.” Ron motioned to a corner where he could just see a hem of robes poking out from behind a shelf.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And no one’s hexing each other?”

“Not yet, but we should head over. We don’t want to press our luck.”

Long experience had shown that the two could be civil for at least a short while in company. However, without the distraction of other people, the two were like a ticking time bomb. Harry thus found it rather strange to find them, grievances set aside, suggesting glasses for each other to try on.

“Hey, sunglasses!” Hermione handed Blaise a pair of heavily tinted frames.

“What do you think?” asked Blaise. The lenses were completely black, the glass offering no hint of reflection. Black didn’t even seem like the right word. It wasn’t so much a color as the complete absence of, well, anything. Where Blaise’s eyes should have been were two unfathomable voids.

“Oh, never mind. I bet you can’t even see out of those,” said Hermione.

Blaise set the glasses back on their shelf. “I could see perfectly. And they’re not _sun_ glasses, they’re _shadow_ glasses. They collect all the light from around you so you can see even in near perfect dark.”

“Well they don’t suit you at all.”

“Try these,” said Blaise, holding out a set of narrow reading frames.

Hermione obliged, “How do I look?”

Ron answered first, “You look… older. In a good way. Like more grown up.”

Smiling, she turned to Harry.

“Um, good. They’re very… professor-like.”

Hermione frowned.

“Professorial? Yeah, I see it. Or maybe a librarian,” Blaise chuckled, “you could take over for Madam Pince! Oh come on. You could be just as strict as her and better looking to boot.”

Hermione glared sternly over the tops of the glasses at Blaise, which proved exactly the wrong thing to do. Blaise doubled over laughing.

“Yes!” Blaise choked out between fits, “just like that. And… and… tell me to keep my voice down!”

Hermione’s hand drifted unconsciously towards her wand, color rising in her cheeks.

“Hey! The shopkeeper’s back!” said Ron, tugging Hermione towards the counter before the situation could devolve further.

When the two were safely separated, Harry turned to Blaise

“You really shouldn’t antagonize her like that.”

“Me? You started it. If she’s going to take everything I say in the worst possible light, is that my fault? Ok, fine. I’ll try to smooth things over.”

Blaise and Harry rejoined Ron and Hermione at the counter, where the shopkeeper was absentmindedly polishing Harry’s glasses. The glasses looked exactly the same as far as Harry could tell. The shopkeeper handed the glasses to Harry and a parchment Harry assumed to be the bill to Blaise. Harry removed the borrowed eyeball pendant (with another stomach churning change of perspective as he pulled it off) and donned his glasses. Everything looked… the same. Maybe things were a bit clearer, like when his prescription was updated, but other than that, there seemed to be nothing remarkable about the glasses.

Blaise, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased with the parchment outlining the services performed.

“So… what enchantments did I get?” Harry asked.

“That would spoil the fun,” replied Blaise, “I think I’ll let you discover everything on your own. Each new bit will be like a brand-new present.”

Blaise crumpled up the parchment and tossed it in the bin. Harry followed the paper, willing his glasses to give him X-ray vision, or something to reveal its contents, but his glasses refused to give him anything beyond normal vision.

Blaise counted out three stacks of gold coins and slid them across the counter.

“Blaise, how much did these cost? That’s way too much. I can’t accept this.”

“Harry, the deed is done. It’s too late to back out now. But there’s two reasons you should just accept it. First, my family’s wealth is at least in part thanks to The Boy Who Lived. I know, I know, you were a baby and didn’t choose anything, but let me be, for the moment, the simpering fan shaking your hand non the less. Second, someone of my birth can barely be seen in the company of a muggleborn and a blood traitor – no offense Ron – and can much less afford to be seen giving gifts to them. I would expect the famous Harry potter could perhaps be so generous in my stead.”

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, wondering what he should do. Hermione looked at Blaise, trying to discern some ulterior motive to explain his largess. Ron, on the other hand, was staring at the stacks of gold which Harry had no doubt would match a substantial part of his father’s salary. Hermione caught sight of this and sighed.

“Just take it Harry, he’s at least trying to be decent I suppose.”

“Ok Blaise, but with one condition,” Harry grinned, “There were three stacks there and I’ve got three friends. You’re ALL getting something nice!”

\---

“Maybe my own broomstick,” said Ron as then left to store to continue their shopping. “I know a firebolt would be too much, but a comet or a clean sweep, maybe even a Nimbus if we can find one used.”

“Yeah, we can take a look.”

“Thanks Harry, this really means a lot to me.” Ron paused for a moment. “And, um, thanks Blaise.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Blaise, “seriously, I don’t want to have to listen to Draco whining if he finds out I’m actually being friendly with a Weasley.”

It was nice, Harry thought. He had spent the last few years trying to manage all his frients fighting with each other. Perhaps they would finally start actually getting along.

“Hermione, what do you want?” asked Harry.

“I don’t need anything you could buy with his money,” Hermione spat.

“It’s not from me; it’s from Harry,” said Blaise, “You know he’s going to get you something and if you don’t give him a hint, he’s going to ask me, I’ll give him advice, and you’ll end up having to give me credit for picking out a thoughtful, meaningful present for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Hey, what’s that?” said Ron, pointing ahead to where a young girl stood in the middle of the road, looking around nervously.

Hermione ran ahead to meet her.

“Are you OK? Are you lost?”

“I’m not lost,” the girl said indignantly, “I’m the lady of a noble house, I would never get _lost_.” Despite her brave words, she couldn’t help but continue to search the passing crowds.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Well,” the girl looked away, “Mr. Lupin was supposed to show me around and help me get my things for Hogwarts, but I think _he_ got lost. I’m sure he’s scared being out here all alone.” She shifted back and forth. “Could you help me find him?”

The girl looked far too young to be starting Hogwarts, but each year the first years seemed younger and younger. Harry supposed by 7th year 11-year-olds would look like babies to him.

“Of course. We go to Hogwarts too. We could help you pick up your stuff until you find him. What’s your name?”

“Amelia,” she stuck out a hand, “Amelia Bann.”

“Hermione. And this is Ron, Harry, and Blaise. What should we get first?”

“Well, I’ve got most of my stuff. Maybe robes if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“That’s right next to the book shop,” said Ron, “we can get our stuff while you’re with Madam Malkin.”

They started down the street again, Amelia skipping along holding Hermione’s hand as Blaise produced various sweets from his bag for her. As Amelia chattered on around a mouthful of chocolate frog, anxiety over her missing minder forgotten until they arrived at the shop.

“You’re not going to come in with me?” Amelia asked, eyes wide.

Hermione smiled down at her, “I can walk you in if you’re scared, but Madam Malkin is really nice. She can take care of you until we’re done with the book shop.”

Amelia stamped her foot. “I’m _not_ scared. I was just… um, not sure what to get. I was going to ask your advice is all.”

“I’ll get her sorted,” said Blaise, “I’ve been meaning to pick up some new robes anyway. You three go get your things.” The two of them disappeared into the shop.

The trio entered the bookshop, prompting Hermione to immediately disappear into the rows of shelves, leaving Ron and Harry alone.

“You think she’s really going to Hogwarts?” Ron whispered

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s obviously too young. Madam Malkin probably doesn’t even carry robes that small.”

“Well, they could probably shrink down a set, or they could be custom made. Professor Flitwick obviously made it work.”

“Or she could be having us on. Hey, what’s that?” Ron pointed at a bin surrounded by students. They pushed forward to try and catch a glimpse of the source of the commotion. What greeted them was a bin of books hopping up and snapping at any unwary hand that dared reach into their domain, pearly teeth clicking in warning.

“What kind of nutter would buy a biting book?” asked Ron.

“Well, you’re going to,” Harry replied, “check your book list.”

Ron produced the parchment that contained their shopping list from his pocket, unfolded it and scanned the list. “Aw crap. I vote we leave them for last.”

“Agreed.”

The friends set about gathering the rest of their things, the standard book of spells transfiguration and the like. They caught occasional glimpses of Hermione through the shelves carrying ever growing stacks of books. Both had learned from hard experience that she did not like being interrupted from any tasks regarding books and let her be.

Ron picked up a copy of Unfogging the Future and began flipping through it.

“You think this stuff is real?” Harry asked, picking up a copy for himself.

“Reckon it would be pretty useful. We could predict what questions would be on all our exams. Hey, maybe that will be our divination final, ‘here’s a bag of chicken bones, tell me what I’m going to ask you.’”

“Divination doesn’t work like that.” Hermione had appeared by their side to grab her own copy. She had given up carrying her books by hand and charmed them to float alongside her in a literal literary train. “Divination is supposed to be absolutely guaranteed, but ambiguously presented, so it’s hard to know exactly what will happen until you see it. Arithmancy is clearer, but not absolute.”

“Huh?” Ron stared blankly at her.

“Well, let’s say that you get predictions of the same event. Professor McGonagall gave me an example. Divination might say ‘when the second conflict coincides with the first snow, a broken comet, an eagle will fall.’ If it’s proper divination, it’s assured to come true, but who knows what it means until it does.”

“And arithmancy?” Harry asked.

“You’d do the calculations and say that Cho has a 30% chance of breaking her ankle on December third. It’s clear, but not certain, which seems more useful. You can have a bandage ready just in case.” Hermione caught the worried look on Harry’s face. “Harry, it’s just an example, not a real prediction.”

“So why are you taking Divination instead of Arithmancy?” Ron asked.

“Not instead of, in addition to. I figure if I can run the numbers with Arithmancy, it might help interpret the divination. We have an idea what the result might be from Arithmancy, Cho might break an ankle, and that can be a clue as to what the prophesy might be. It’s like a puzzle.”

“So, maybe on December third, Cho will have a fight with her friend, and…” Harry paused, “A meteorite will knock an eagle into her leg?”

Hermione laughed, “That was my first guess too. No.”

“So what’s the right answer?” Ron asked.

“I haven’t figured it out yet. Professor McGonagall says if I can solve it by the first day of class, she’ll give me 5 points. You guys got everything?”

“We just need the Monster Book of Monsters for care of magical creatures. I don’t fancy trying to pick one up though,” said Ron.

“Just have your brothers get it,” Hermione replied, pointing over to where the twins had at some point set up a stand. A board beside them read:

Weasley Book Capture

-OPEN-

Services:

Book capture- 7 sickles

Clamps- 5 sickles

Prices for Do-It-Yourselfers:

Bandages- 19 knuts each

Finger reattachment- 1 galleon

The students and parents who had been huddled around the bin were now queued up in front of the twins. As they watched, George took a small stack of silver coins from Hannah as Fred dangled a chew toy from a thin rope above the bin. A book leapt up and snapped shut on the toy with a loud squeak. Fred wound the rope around the book and held the struggling book out to Hannah.

“Er… I think I’ll take the clamps after all,” said Hannah, fishing out 5 more sickles.

Fred caught sight of Harry and flipped the open sign. On the reverse it read “On Break. Will return in 10 minutes”

“Well if it isn’t Harry, up and about and still not dead.”

“Or a remarkably well-preserved zombie, can’t rule that out.”

“He’s not trying to chew on anyone’s brains, so unlikely.”

“Spent all day with Ron, might have put him off his appetite.”

“Right you are, brother mine.”

Harry smiled, “Have you two actually had to reattach any fingers?”

“We don’t even know how, but lucky for us the books can’t bite hard enough to take one off.”

“So why do you have it on the sign?” asked Harry.

“Helps sell the other stuff to have it on there of course.”

“Well, I think all three of us will take the whole package.”

“No charge for you. We like to stay on good terms with possible zombies.”

“And Hermione looks like she’s spent enough already, we’ll throw hers in for free too.”

“Full price for Ron though. Our friends and family discount specifically excludes family.”

“Hey! No fair!” Ron cut in.

Harry put a hand on his shoulder, “His is on me anyway.”

“Ok, fine then,” said Fred, “his will be on the house too.”

George fished three preclamped books out of a sack and handed them over. “we keep a stack already to go in case the line backs up. We can snag them pretty quick when we aren’t doing it for show.”

Fred donned a dragonhide glove and demonstrated, letting a book chomp down harmlessly on the tough leather and lifting it to George to clamp, remove, and drop into the sack, replacing the three preclamped books within seconds.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“A bit, but it’s much faster than the squeak toy.”

“At least let me pay for the clamps,” said harry.

“These?” George held up one of the thick metal clamps. “four knuts a piece at Edmund Otto’s Odds and Ends. Don’t worry about it.”

After settling up with the shopkeeper, the three of them emerged back into the bright sun of Diagon Alley. Blaise and Amelia had apparently finished their shopping at Madam Malkin’s and had settled into an outdoor table across the street at the ice cream shop.

“There you are,” said Blaise, “What took you?”

“This,” Ron pulled out the Monster Book of Monsters, still wriggling against the clamps holding it shut. “Some nutter assigned us a book that tries to bite your fingers off.”

“At least it comes clipped shut. Well, my turn for books.” Blaise got up from the table and motioned towards Amelia. “Mind her, will you?”

Before they could warn him, he was across the street and through the door of the book shop, leaving Ron, Harry, and Hermione with the young girl chattering on about her new robes through a mouthful of ice cream.

Harry figured this was at least an opportunity to start treating the others in lieu of Blaise and went up to the counter to get three more cones.

“What can I get for you dear?”

“Two chocolate chip and one strawberry please.”

“Sure, I’ll bring them over when they’re ready.”

Harry began counting out coins from his back.

“Oh no, it’s free. I saw you all taking care of that lost girl. I let the other shop keepers know too. We’ll find her parents soon I’m sure.”

She proved to be right. Harry had barely made it back to the table with the three ice creams when Amelia jumped up and ran over to a rather distressed looking wizard.

“Remus! I was so scared!” shouted Amelia, throwing her arms around him before glancing back at the other children, “I mean, I was worried you had gotten lost. I am responsible for you after all. I can’t have you wandering off.”

Remus smiled down at her, “Of course Miss Bann. I see you made some friends?”

“Oh yes, this is Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Blaise took me robe shopping. He’s getting his books now. They’re really nice and gave me candy.”

“Oh? You’ve got your robes then? I suppose that’s all we need then.”

“We could get some more ice cream. You haven’t had any yet.”

“Very well, I’ll have mint.” Remus passed Amelia a money pouch and she bounded away.

He turned back to the three of them, “Thank you for assisting Miss Bann.”

“Is she really going to Hogwarts?” Ron asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

“Yes, she is.”

“But she’s too young, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate her. Miss Bann is a rare magical talent, perhaps the most naturally gifted witch in a hundred years. She will handle the coursework just fine.”

“I think,” Harry cut in, “what he means is that she might be too young to be off at school without supervision. She’ll be there without family and without any children her own age. You should have seen how worried she was when she got lost. She’s going to have to spend six months without you to help her. Do you really think she can handle that?”

The wizard simply smiled back at Harry. “I wouldn’t worry about that. We’ve got it all worked out.”

“Well, we’ll try and watch out for her as best we can, show her around, help her get adjusted. We can let you know if she’s having trouble.”

“Thank you. You remind me of someone from my Hogwarts days.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“A classmate. I came from a, difficult situation and didn’t make friends easily. He took me under his wing so to speak. I owe a great deal to him. Ah, Miss Bann,” Lupin turned as Amelia approached with the ice cream, “These children have agreed to assist you in your transition into Hogwarts. Isn’t that nice of them?”

“As if I’d need someone holding my hand the whole time.” She glared at Hermione, apparently assuming she had been the one to broach the subject. “I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way around, thank you.”

Remus simple looked at Harry with an expression that screamed _I told you so_ and began eating his ice cream. 

“I don’t recognize your family name, is it German?” asked Ron.

“Irish,” Amelia looked annoyed.

“That’s odd, you don’t look- Ow!” Ron glared over at Harry, who had just kicked him under the table.

“Amelia’s father was Irish. He met her mother while teaching at Mahoutokoro,” Remus answered.

“Hey Ron, you want to run over to Quality Quidditch Supplies?” Harry knew from experience that once Ron put his foot in his mouth, he tended to try and get the other one in there too. The best course of action was to distract him before he could dig himself any deeper. Luckily, Ron took the bait.

“What? Yeah! Let’s go!”

Ron proceeded to drag Harry from the shop as Hermione apologized on his behalf before following them.

A few hours later, Harry was back in his room. Ron was off practicing with his new broom (a used Nimbus 2000) Hermione and Blaise were probably still arguing over who was responsible for the second goblin rebellion, leaving Harry at last alone with his thoughts. Twenty four hours ago someone had tried to kill him, and yet everyone was carrying on as if that was just a bad day, something to be forgotten and moved on from. He supposed attempts on his life were a bit more routine than they should be, but it really seemed like people should be more concerned.

Harry looked over at his trunk, still magically sealed by Dumbledore. He intended to leave it that way, safe and secure, until he was back at Hogwarts. But he really wanted to talk to someone who could really understand him. Sure, Riddle was just a reflection of Voldemort’s teenage self. He was probably even evil. But Tom never talked down to Harry. He never ignored his concerns. Tom was the only person, if he was a person, who talked to Harry as an adult. His friends might talk to him as an equal, but they still thought of themselves as children. So they thought of him as a child. Tom was the only one who seemed to agree that Harry ought to be consulted in matters that involve him. Besides, maybe Tom could give him some ideas about how to investigate his attacker.

Harry walked to the trunk. He ran a hand over the clasp, knowing that no force on earth could open it but his own hand. He could feel the magic in it. What harm could come before they left for Hogwarts really? They would depart the next day. Surely his possessions would be safe until then.

Harry pressed upwards on the latch, feeling it respond to his magic, the wards on the chest releasing. He pulled out his books, his cloak, and right underneath his robes would be…

It was gone. The diary wasn’t there. Harry emptied out his chest, scouring the pile of belongings for the book. He went thought the pile item by item, but it was no use. Tom Riddle’s diary was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I welcome feedback. I love hearing where you think it's going.


	7. The Train Ride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit on the shorter side, But I should be able to resume posting a bit more frequently. (I've got most of the next chapter written, I was just having a bit of trouble with the end of this one. It still ends a bit suddenly, but it should get us through the train at least.

“Harry, just put your crap in the trunk and let’s get going. Are you trying o miss the train?” Ron scolded him.

Harry had been unpacking and repacking his trunk all morning hoping desperately that somehow the diary would reappear.

“Ron, he just wants to stay organized. I’ve been telling you for YEARS if you’d just spend a little more time organizing, you’d spend less time searching for stuff and have more time to study.” Hermione looked at the wall clock. “but maybe I should help you. It is getting a bit late.”

Harry acquiesced ten minutes later, they were downstairs.

“How are we getting to King’s cross anyway?”

“Well, I’m really sorry Harry, but they seem to have fixed the King’s Cross fireplace,” said Fred

“We really thought we had it out of commission until after we graduated,” said George.

“So, we’re traveling by floo? That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged an uneasy glance. Harry couldn’t help but not the absence of any recrimination for the twin’s apparent admission of willful property damage.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

“Harry, just remember, there will be other people coming right behind you. You MUST clear the landing area as quickly as possible. Percy, do you have the first aid kid?”

“Of course, mother.”

“Ok, Harry, you first.”

“Hold on,”

“Remember, ‘platform 9 ¾,’ say it clearly.” Mr. Weasley threw a pinch of floo-powder in the fire.

Mrs. Weasley gently shoved him into the flames. “Platform 9 ¾,” Harry yelled.

The familiar twisting, painless burning sensation carried him through the magical fire. The trip seemed perfectly ordinary to him. The Floo network wasn’t exactly pleasant, but other than all the spinning and soot, it really wasn’t that bad. Sure, Harry hadn’t gotten the hang of just stepping out at the other end like others he had seen. He usually lost his footing with the rotation suddenly stopping and ended up dumped on the floor. The twins were probably just having a laugh. Harry could see the rotating view of King’s Cross up ahead. Harry prepared to step out, determined to stick the landing this time.

_Almost there, 3… 2… 1…_

Harry stepped forward, and…

Harry was flying through the air in a low arc, the fireplace receding behind him. He landed on the stone floor with a sickening crack and his arm exploded in pain. Next to him, his trunk and Hedwig’s cage floated gently down to a stack of mattresses three feet to his left.

“Ooh, bad spot of luck there. You missed the feather fall and the landing zone,” Harry looked up to find a porter pulling his trunk from the soft-landing area. “No worries, the healer will be over in a moment.”

He helped Harry up and over to a long line of injured students waiting on an exhausted looking medi-witch. Harry sat on his trunk, cradling his arm.

With a loud boom, the fireplace launched another person into the air. Harry saw a flash of red hair and recognize one of the twins, George based on the large “G” on his sweater.

“ _Arresto momentum!_ ” the porter yelled, and Harry watched as the spell went wide, missing the falling twin entirely. What was worse is he seemed to be overshooting the cushions by several feet.

“ _Inflatus!”_ George cried, and swelled into a round ball which bounced along the ground sending students scattering in all directions.

Fred was next and managed to cast some sort of charm to guide him to the pile of mattresses.

The still-round George waddled over to join Harry and his twin.

“Bad luck with the arm, hold on, I know the healer. Oy! Cynthia! Little help!”

The medi-witch caught sight of them and walked over. Fred, George, I was hoping to see you again. Expanded yourself? Quick thinking. You need the counter charm?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“ _Flatus!_ ”

_Plththththththturburththththpt…_

The rush of air lifted George up off the ground for several seconds as the noise pulled the attention of every student on the platform.

When he had finally deflated enough to the return to the ground, she began looking back and forth between the twins.

“Which one of you is the real Fred?” both twins pointed at the other. “You know I can tell you apart if I have to.”

“Not while we’re in robes!”

“Oh yeah?” she leaned close, “Astronomy tower.”

The newly deflated George turned pink. She slapped Fred, then turned back to George and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Hold on,” said Fred, rubbing the reddened handprint on his face, “I haven’t seen him blush in years. What do you have on him?”

She simply smiled and turned her attention to Harry. “Doesn’t look to bad, minor break. _Ossio Emendo!_ ”

There was a stabbing pain as Harry’s bones knit back together, but it was over in a flash. Harry flexed his fingers experimentally.

“Drink this,” she said, handing him a potion, “it will help prevent reinjury.”

Cynthia returned to the queue of injuries and Harry and the twins resumed watching the arrivals.

Ron came through, and the porter managed to hit him with the slowing charm, Hermione and Percy, who cast the spell on themselves when the porter missed, and Blaise, whose robes magically billowed out to drop him gently to the ground.

They made their way onto the train and the twins peeled off to join their friends. The four third years found an empty car to claim and settled in. Eventually, the last of the students must have made it to the platform, healed any injuries and boarded, for the train started to pull away from the station. Harry knew it was time to come clean.

“I have to tell you something, but don’t get mad.”

“Damnit Harry, what did you do now?” The recrimination came, surprisingly, not from Hermione but from Blaise.

“Hush!” Hermione motioned to the door where they could just see the top of a head through the window. Hermione slid the door open.

“Amelia?”

“The other cars all seem to be full,” She shuffled back and forth, “Could I sit with you?”

“Of course,” said Harry, suddenly grateful for the interruption. He could handle Hermione’s reproach, but Blaise and Ron were usually on his side, even if they probably shouldn’t be.

After several long minutes of Hermione and Blaise uniting in glaring at Harry, Ron mercifully interrupted.

“So Amelia, what house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”

“Oh, I’m not going to be sorted. I’m a transfer from Mahoutokoro. Don’t underestimate the last heir of the Bann family!”

“She’s as bad as Draco, isn’t she?” whispered Ron, “I bet her father will hear of it.”

“My father is dead unfortunately,” Amelia replied, I’d ask you not to bring it up again.”

Ron fell silent, and the rest of them seemed to be resolved to only discuss the most innocuous of topics.

After half an hour of rather uncomfortable small talk, an idea hit Harry.

“Ron, why don’t you draw out the general layout of the castle for her?”

Ron had inherited the Marauder’s Map from his brothers after they had blamed him for sneaking into Gryffindor and stealing it first year. They felt that such delinquency meant that he showed promise and deserved the map. In truth, Ron was innocent of the crime. Instead, their own housemate Neville was to blame. After using it to discover an adult animagus pretending to be his pet rat, Ron was quite nervous about castle intruders and spent a good deal of time consulting the map. As such, there was probably no one in the school more knowledgeable about the grounds than Ron.

Hermione, as always, had a quill and parchment ready on hand and seemed quite pleased both by the idea of finding something study before school began and setting Ron on a topic in which he was unlikely to put his foot back in his mouth.

“Ok,” Ron began sketching out the floorplan, “you’ve got seven floors, plus three dungeons and one cellar. The main corridors are here, here, and here. Watch out on the third floor where this hallway runs in the wrong direction.”

“What do you mean runs in the wrong direction?”

“Well, the east stairs on the second and fourth floor connect to the west stairs on the third, and vice versa. Except on Tuesdays when they skip the third floor altogether.”

Amelia began to look more and more confused as the intricacies of the castle were explained. You could never really visualize it without a proper magical map. The Marauder’s map had dozens of pullout folds to indicate where too many rooms existed for the length of the hallway, or fold lines for where a hidden door landed you on the far side of the castle. Without such tricks, it was impossible to really grasp how it all fit together. Well, Hermione seemed convinced that you could understand it with arithmancy, but when she tried to show him the calculations, it just made his head spin.

An hour out they decided to change into school robes. The girls waited in the hallway for the boys to change, and then switched.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” Harry had learned early on that if Hermione was changing, it was going to be a while.

He made his way forward. The train largely self-segregated by house, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff in the front, Gryffindor and Slytherin in the back, with unsorted first years acting as a buffer between them. Harry and his diverse group tended to occupy this buffer zone between Slytherin and the rest of the houses, so his walk took him through the rather hostile territory of Gryffindor first. Harry weathered the stares of students still convinced that his was the Heir of Slytherin (unhelped by Fred and George who were still acting as doom criers for his approach) and into the friendlier territory of Hufflepuff.

“Ah, Harry,” a familiar voice said.

“Remus?”

“Professor Lupin, if you please. I’m helping out with Defense Against Dark Arts this year.”

“Oh, sorry professor. So that’s why you weren’t worried about Amelia.”

“Indeed. She was looking for you. Did she find you?”

“Yeah, she’s been sitting with us. Her and Hermione are getting their school robes on now. Are you really sure she’ll be alright coming to Hogwarts so young?”

“I’m positive. I know she seems a bit helpless at times, but if there’s one thing I can teach you this year, it’s that appearances can be deceiving. I know that better than most.”

Harry could sense the unspoken secret in the last and knew better than to pursue it.

“Sir, if you need any help finding your way around, let me or Ron know. We’re becoming something of experts on the layout of the school.”

Lupin laughed, his tired face momentarily regaining its youth by benefit of the mirth. “A dare say, finding someone to show me around would be a treat indeed! I think I’ll be able to find my way, even if the intervening year it’s been rearranging. But if I have trouble, I’ll be sure to seek you out.”

The train began to slow, and Lupin turned instantly serious.

“Return to your car, lock the door and wait for me. Tell Amelia to stay with you.”

Harry had the sense not to argue and rushed back through the train to rejoin his friends.

He found Ron and Neville still waiting their turn to change. Harry grabbed them and pushed them into the compartment.

“Hey! Knock!” Hermione chided, finishing up the last button of her blouse.

“Something’s happening. Lupin said lock the door. Amelia, stay here. We’ll keep you safe.” Harry flipped the latch, securing the door as best he could.

“I…”

“Not now, hush, someone’s coming.”

Everyone fell silent, A rhythmic thump of boots grew nearer. They could hear other doors being thrown open and indistinct shouted orders.

“ _Colloportus!_ ” Harry whispered.

“I think they’ll figure that one out,” said Hermione.

“ _Epoximise!_ ”

“A sticking charm, Ron? Hmm, that’s clever!” Hermione whispered. Ron blushed.

Someone pounded on the door, making them all jump.

“Open up! DMLE!”

Harry turned to the others, finger to his lips.

The door knob jiggled.

“Locked door. Requestion authorization to breach.”

“Granted,” a distant voice replied.

“ _Alohamora!_ ” The latch flipped open. The handle jiggled again, “Ogden, little help?”

“Finite it.”

Hermione quietly relatched the lock.

“ _Finite Incantatem,_ ” The handle jiggled again, now held again by the door lock.

“No luck.”

The other voice drew closer, “Hmm… I’ll handle it.”

Harry didn’t hear the spell, but the door suddenly exploded outward in a shower of splinters. Two wizards stood there, wands drawn, a clipboard in one hand.

“Damn it, kids, we don’t have time for this crap. Name age and house, all of you!

“Hermione Granger, 13.”

“Ron Weasley, 13”

“Harry Potter, 13”

“Blaise Zabini, 13”

“Amelia Bann, 9”

The wizard with the clipboard frowned, “You two,” he motioned at Harry and Amelia, “Come with me for secondary questioning.”

“Gentlemen,” Lupin appeared beside them.

“Stand aside, sir. We’re aurors on ministry business.”

“And I am on Hogwarts business. As a representative of the school, I took over in loco parentis as soon as we departed. As such, you must either have a warrant, or my permission to detain these children. Do you have a warrant for the arrest of the Boy-Who-Lived?”

The two aurors looked at each other.

“We On official business,” one said weakly.

“I’m well aware, but I can assure you that none of these students is who you’re looking for, and I will not have you terrorizing them.”

“I’m going to report this, this… interference!”

“Naturally,” Lupin replied. The aurors reluctantly withdrew, Is everyone ok?”

“I think so,” said Harry.

“We’re fine,” asserted Amelia with a bit more force, “Thank you, Remus.”

“You’re most welcome, miss. Now, is everyone ready? We’re nearly to Hogsmead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be curious about why Ron thought of the Sticking charm. This was originally going to be Hermione casting it, but as I was checking on canon, I found that a similar use of the sticking charm is used in Tales of Beetle the Bard. Since Ron would be a prime candidate for someone who read this, I figured he'd be the most likely to think of it here. I like to give Ron his wins when I can. He tends to be a bit of an afterthought when he's not getting bashed.


	8. The First Day of Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subtitle: Harry and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update to get this moving again. The first couple paragraphs for some reason took me forever to write, and this update ends a bit too suddenly, but rather than struggling for another week trying to find something to close the curtain, I figure I'd just get this one out there.

Charms went well. Harry tried to hold on to that bright point is a week that was otherwise cursed first week. In Divination, Professor Trelawny had informed him that she could see the shadow of death cloaking him and that he was sure to die by the end of the year. This, of course, firmly entrenched in Ron the idea that the figure he had seen after the attack on Privet Drive could be none other than Death itself. Hermione, meanwhile, firmly objected to the idea of a bodily personification of Death, or any other abstract concept.

In Transfiguration they were learning how to transfigure previously transfigured objects by turning forks, to knives, to spoons. Harry was so preoccupied with the foretelling of his death that he left a razor sharp edge on his spoon and gave himself a nasty gash on his hand resulting in a record setting first day trip to the hospital wing.

After getting discharged, he discovered that the south stairs going down from the second floor apparently now led to the fourth floor of the Runes department, forcing Harry to sprint down 6 flights of stairs to arrive six minutes late for potions, earning him his first detention for the year as well.

The first Defense Against Dark Arts class was double with Gryffindor, Harry and Blaise entered and joined Neville at a table. There was a long-standing animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but since Neville seemed to be a virtual outcast of Gryffindor due to his rather limited magical talents, he didn’t seem to mind a friendly Slytherin face. Blaise, while overall hostile to Gryffindors, seemed to consider Neville “one of the good ones,” perhaps due to his blood status. Harry, for his part, didn’t much care about the interhouse rivalry, and was more than willing to be friendly with anyone who was willing to be friendly in kind. 

Two surprises greeted Harry as he looked around. First was the absence of a professor. Instead, a note on the board left rather odd instructions: 

Dear students, 

I am your new Defense professor. I am somewhere in the castle. Your assignment is to find and capture me. Any team who can locate and stun me shall receive an automatic Outstanding for the year. Happy hunting! 

Harry, Blaise, and Neville were a natural group, as were Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. The rest of the class seemed to be having trouble hashing out who would be teaming up with who. 

The second surprise was Amelia Bann, who had been sitting at the front of the class, approaching Harry. 

“Wait, you’re in our year?” Blaise asked 

“I told you, I transferred.” 

“Ok, I’m just surprised. So, are you looking for help catching the new professor?” 

“I am the last heir of the house of Bann. I do not ask for help from children!” 

“Ok, fine, fine. What are you coming over for then?” 

“Well, I don’t really know my way around the school yet. Could I join you guys?” 

Harry and Blaise exchanged looks. A guaranteed O was on the line and they weren’t looking forward to babysitting, no matter what kind of prodigy she was supposed to be. Neville, apparently, didn’t pick up on the mood of the team. 

“Of course you can. I’m Neville by the way.” 

Once they were out of the classroom, Blaise turned to Harry, “Do we know anything about the professor? Any idea how we can identify them?” 

Harry grinned, “Lupin.” 

“Lupin? You mean Amelia’s minder?” 

“He’s not my minder, he’s my personal assistant! I’m--” 

“-- the last heir of your house. Yeah, we remember,” Blaise finished. 

“So, you’ve all met him?” Neville asked, “What does he look like?” 

“Tall, thin, small mustache. When we met him, he seemed a bit under the weather. He was probably losing a lot of sleep prepping for class. Hey, Amelia, I don’t suppose you have a picture, do you?” 

“Of course I do.” She produced a small photo from a pocket and the four of them stared down at the waving figure of Remus Lupin. 

“Where should we look first? He looks like he wouldn’t be too eager to climb a bunch of stairs, so let’s start in the dungeons,” said Blaise. 

“We could--” Amelia began. 

“Draco’s team said they were starting there. We’d be behind. Let’s start on the third floor and work down.” 

“If you’d just--” 

“Hold on Amelia. Third floor is going to be mostly full of classes. I don’t think he’d hide out there. The library is on the fourth--” 

Harry was interrupted by an ear-splitting bang. The three boys turned to Amelia, who had a hand on her hip, a scowl on her face, and a thin curl of smoke wafting above her wand. 

“As I was saying,” she looked at each of them in turn as if daring them to interrupt her again, “he’s on the fifth floor, by the staff room.” 

“How do you know?” asked Neville. 

“We got a pair of trace cards after we left the ice cream shop.” 

“Trace cards?” Harry turned to Blaise for an explanation. 

“A pair of magical cards that each has the location of the other written on them.” 

“Why would you have a trace card of a professor though?” asked Neville. 

“Never mind that, let’s get going.” Amelia started off down the hall, hoping to escape a retelling of her getting lost in Diagon alley. She stopped, looking around, “Where are the stairs?” 

“This way.” Harry pointed down another corridor. 

"Don’t feel bad,” said Neville, “there doesn’t seem to be a straight path between any two places in the castle, and with all the twists and turns, it’s easy to get turned around. It took me about two months before I could find all my classes without asking directions.” 

“What are you talking about? You asked the way to Transfiguration last week.” 

“Yeah, well that’s because the west stairs started leading to the muggle studies hallway rather than the trophy room.” 

Amelia whispered to Harry, “what do they mean the stairs stopped leading the same place?” 

“Yeah, the castle is weird like that. Sometimes it rearranges. The stairs are the worst, but if you can get on the right floor, you can usually find your way. If you get lost, ask the paintings. They always seem to know the current layout.” 

“So, what are we going to do when we find him?” said Blaise 

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“Well, he’s a defense professor and he’s sure to be ready for us. How do we take him down?” 

Harry thought for a bit. He had his cloak, but he wasn’t sure he knew Amelia or Professor Lupin well enough to let that secret out. The staff room really only had one approach, so they wouldn’t be able to sneak up on him either 

“We might just have to rush him.” 

“Nah, he would have to be ready for that.” 

“Pretend there’s an emergency and lure him into an ambush?” 

“If he thinks there’s an emergency, he’ll be even more on guard and more likely to cast stronger spells. Too risky.” 

“There’s got to be something we can use. Hey, wait! Amelia, you know him pretty well. Does he have any weaknesses? Anything at all we can use?” 

“About time you asked. None of you stand a chance. I’m the only one who could get the jump on him.” 

Blaise laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” She glared at him. 

“Are you seriously pretending you could take him down on your own?” 

“I’m the last - “ 

“Hush you two, we’re almost there.” 

“Don’t you hush me!” Amelia drew her wand. 

“Hey, put that away!” said Neville, “We’re on the same team.” 

“Gods, you’re worse than Hermione. If you’re so brilliant, prove it. You go in and get him.” 

“Well I could! I just don’t want to!” 

“Ha! I knew you were bluffing!” 

“Well, maybe I’ll just hex all of you instead! If you think you’re so great, go ahead a draw your wand!” 

Harry and Neville looked on helplessly. He had seen Blaise and Hermione like this enough that he knew it wasn’t likely to end well. One or the other would end up hexed and then a professor would dock them all house points. Why couldn’t they have at least waited until after they got Professor Lupin? 

That was it! Their plan might be shot, but Lupin could break it up and probably would let them off easy. 

“Neville, try to calm them down, I’ll get someone.” Harry ran down the last two corridors, rounded the last corner, and came face to face with Professor Lupin, who had his wand out and pointed at Harry before Harry could so much as blink. 

Harry held up his empty hands. “Sir, I need your help. I think Amelia is about to get in a fight.” 

Lupin sighed and lowered his wand. "Already? On the first day?” He looked down at a card and took off at a jog down the corridor from which Harry had come. 

Harry ran after him, surprised by the speed the tired-looking professor could manage. Harry found himself struggling to keep up. Even at such a short distance, he was out of breath, clutching a stitch in his side by the time Lupin reached the others. Harry coming to a stop behind the professor. 

“Miss Bann, what do you think you’re doing? Put your wand away!” 

“He started it!” 

“What? No I didn’t.” 

“I don’t care who started what. Miss Bann, you know better than this. I will not have you dueling students in the halls!” 

“But he said-” 

“It doesn’t matter what he said. Do you think Dumbledore would let you continue here if he saw this behavior?” 

Sheepishly, she lowered her wand. 

Harry wondered how many points they would lose. It shouldn’t be too bad since curses hadn’t started flying, but still, it looked like they would have been better off just staying in the classroom rather than trying to hunt down the professor. 

That was when Harry realized he was now standing behind the professor, whose attention was still focused on Amelia and Blaise. He could at least try... 

“Expelliarmus!” 

Lupin was quick. His wand was out by the second syllable, and he was turning by the fourth. The spell hit him just as he faced Harry, the wand flying out of his grip and onto the floor by Neville. Harry circled around to stand between his friends and Lupin, being sure to keep his wand trained on the professor, wary of any retribution.

Lupin, however, after the briefest flashes of shock at being disarmed, smiled broadly and began to clap.

“Well done! Whose idea was it to stage the fight? Very clever.“

“The fight was real, professor, but after you broke it up, you had your back to me and…”

“And you took the opportunity. Yes. Don’t worry, Harry, I’m not angry in the least.”

“So, we all get an O for the whole year? Really?” Neville asked, stepping forward to join Harry

Harry lowered his. He had won! The O was almost an afterthought for him really. Harry always got O’s in Defense, but he had beaten a teacher! Pride welled in his chest.

“Well, there’s a bit of a technicality there.”

“What do you mean?” Blaise asked, joining Harry, “We beat you right?”

“It would appear so, but as I keep telling you, appearances can be deceiving.” Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Professor Lupin raised his empty hands. “I’m disarmed, fair and square. But technically, the assignment was to ‘locate and _stun_ the professor.’ You should have cast _STUPIFY!_ ”

Harry woke up to the all too familiar sights of the hospital wing, head throbbing. Neville and Blaise in beds next to his own.

“He’s awake,” Blaise announced.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“Wandless magic,” said Neville, “He must be really good to cast a stunner strong enough to take us all out without a wand.”

“There’s been a steady stream of students though here all day. Madam Pomfrey is furious with him,” Blaise added.

As if to prove his point, the doors flew open and in came Hermione, flushed and giggling as she supported Ron, whose legs seemed to have turned to rubber not quite stiff enough to support him. Madam Pomfrey could be heard in the hallway.

“Albus, I must insist you put a stop to this. Every single class it’s two, three new students needing treatment. It’s not right for a professor to be jinxing students.”

“Now Poppy, there have been no serious injuries, and no one got jinxed that wasn’t trying to jinx the professor first. If you feel overburdened, Remus has offered to care for them personally if you’ll allow.”

“I most certainly will not--” the voices cut out as the door closed.

“What happened to you two?” asked Blaise.

“I got hit with a jelly legs jinx.” Ron’s leg gave out, bending forward at the shin and sending them both sprawling onto the bed and raising fresh gales of laughter from Hermione.

“And what’s gotten into her?”

“Some sort of cheering charm or confundus. I didn’t hear the incantation.”

Madam Pomfrey had apparently finished chastising the Headmaster and stormed in, potion in one hand, wand in the other. She cast the counter jinx for Ron, but Hermione proved more difficult. Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t stop laughing long enough to actually swallow the potion.

“Well, I guess it will just have to run it’s course. Keep an eye on her boys; her judgement will likely be a bit impaired until she can get that potion down. Everyone is staying the night.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the boys replied.

After she left, Ron turned to Harry, “Hermione was pretty brilliant. She nearly finished the spell when he got us. How’d he get you?”

“Stunned us windlessly.”

“Wandless? The man’s a monster, I’ll tell you. Did you at least get your wands out?”

“Better,” said Blaise, “Harry disarmed him.”

“Bloody hell! You got a spell off? You got him?”

“Well, he was distracted, and I was behind him. I still barely got it off.”

“Wait,” Hermione chuckled, “You, _he he,_ you had the, _ha ha_ , the drop on him, _heh_ , and you, you cast the wrong SPELL?!? HA HA HA!” Hermione collapsed back on the bed clutching her stomach as fresh gales of laughter overcame her.

“What did you do that for? You could have gotten an O without having to do a single paper,” said Ron.

“Well, I don’t know. It just seemed wrong to stun a professor.”

“It was in the bloody instructions!”

“He’s got a point,” said Blaise, “You did bollocks it up a bit.”

“Hey, I just…”

Neville cut in, “Well I thought it was pretty impressive, even if we didn’t get the O. Besides, you were too busy fighting with Amelia.”

Harry blushed slightly. Out of everyone, he felt worst about losing Neville the grade. The rest of them could probably get by pretty well regardless, but Neville always struggled with DADA and losing the guaranteed grade hurt him more than anyone.

The conversation mercifully turned to giving Blaise crap for nearly getting in a fight with a 9-year-old, which amused Hermione to not end. Though, in her present state, that wasn’t a difficult task. By the time dinner arrived, they had all moved on to more innocuous topics, quidditch, complaining about potions, rumors about other students, and so forth.

By the time dinner arrived, Hermione’s symptoms had faded from uncontrollable mirth to joyful affection, with her proclaiming loudly and repeatedly how much she loved them all and how Professor Lupin was the best DADA teacher they had ever had.

“This is by far my favorite version of Hermione,” Blaise declared.

Hermione punched him in the arm, a smile still plastered on her face, “Oh, shut up you,” she giggled, “you think you’re soooo special. Just because all the girls like your stupid pretty face, and how you act so suave all the time, and… and the way you always smell like flowers and fresh linen.” She snuggled against an uncomfortable-looking Blaise, inhaling deeply, “You’re not so special.” She closed her eyes and soon began gently snoring against his shoulder.

Blaise gently extricated himself and moved to Hermione’s now vacant bed.

“Girls are so weird,” Ron declared with a nervous chuckle.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blaise blush before,” Neville added.

“Shut up.”

“It was the most civil interaction I’ve ever seen from you two,” Harry joined in the needling.

“Well it’s not my fault she can only keep her temper after she’s been hexed.”

The next morning, Harry awoke to a pained groan. He looked over at Hermione, she was holding her head in her hands, a look of abject misery on her face.

“My head is killing me. Why is it so bright in here?”

“Well Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey said, walking over to give them their final checks, “If you had taken the potion I gave you last night, you wouldn’t be in this mess. No, don’t bother, it’s too late to take it now. This one should help a little.” She handed Hermione a small vial. “you’re all free to go when your friends wake up.”

“We didn’t miss breakfast, did we?” Ron asked.

“No, still half an hour till then.”

“Quiet you two,” Hermione groaned again, “and pull the curtains.”

Blaise stirred and sat up in bed. Hermione’s wand was out in a flash, pointed at his face.

“One word and I’ll hex you into next week, Blaise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. It's starting to be really fun leaving bread crumbs.
> 
> *Minor Spoiler*  
> If you're missing Tom, hang tight. He should put in at least a small appearance next update.


End file.
